


Drive, Darling

by goldenboydean, Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, But he has other ambitions, DCBB, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Love Confessions, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Nesting Dean Winchester, Photographer Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, and just about every other cliché under the sun, playing pool, sweet summer sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenboydean/pseuds/goldenboydean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: It's the last day of July and the air is thick with heat and road dust. Dean Winchester is waiting for his new lodger, some photographer from Chicago coming down to take pictures of the famous covered bridges in the area. And when Castiel Novak arrives at the Winchester farm both men develop a bond that grows stronger as the days go by. But Cas is only here for a short stay and Dean fears that falling for him would only end in a heartbreak. Some things, however, are inevitable.Summer is in full bloom in Madison County, Iowa. Hot, cloudless and ripe with possibilities.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my very first DCBB and I'm nervous as hell to post it. Overall I'm quite happy with how it turned out and I really hope that you'll enjoy the story. Please let me know in the comments what you think! Any feedback will be much appreciated :)
> 
> The story is based on the novel "The Bridges of Madison County" by Robert James Waller, but you don't need to know the book to read my fic. I have included a few references to the source material, but the fic can be read on its own. Title is taken from the song "Drive Darling" by Boy.
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful artist Pimentogirl for bringing the story to life with her amazing illustrations! Her art is jaw-dropping and gorgeous and I am so, so happy to have worked with her. Pimmy, you have been so supportive and helpful, and I cannot thank you enough!!! <3  
> If you're not familiar with Pimmy's art already get your life in order and follow her amazing blog: https://pimentogirl.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> And now, without further ado, enjoy! :)

It’s the last day of July and the air is thick with heat and road dust. Dean doesn’t mind. He’s sitting on the front porch with his bare feet propped on a stool, a cold beer in his hand and a bug repellent within his reach (if the little bastards think he’s going down without a fight they have another thing coming). For once the house is quiet, with John doing a late shift at the station and Sammy spending the afternoon with his friend who happens to be a girl, doesn’t mean that we’re dating, knock it off, Dean!

Since Dean has spent the entire day preparing the Barn for its new occupant, he figures he deserves to kick back now and enjoy the stillness of the afternoon. He briefly considers reaching for his phone to put some music on, but decides against it. It’s too quiet, too peaceful for music coming out of speakers. Instead, he hums a slow tune, and if it’s a bit off key – well, no one will know.

He doesn’t get many moments like this. He’s usually on his feet from dawn to dusk, fussing over Sam, tiptoeing around John and working his hands sore at the garage. Even on days off he’s pottering around the house, always looking for the next thing that needs to be done. Laundry, dinner, small repairs, do Sam’s socks need stitching? Sam could do it himself, of course. The kid’s seventeen now, he knows how to handle shit like that. But if Sam takes care of himself, what is Dean to do?

This is why he doesn’t like staying idle for too long. It invites thoughts he would rather not be dealing with.

Dean swats at a particularly persistent mosquito and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls through his emails, taking occasional sips from his beer. He and his friends are planning their annual community party, an all-neighbors-welcomed extravaganza of food and booze to celebrate the end of summer. Naturally Dean’s mailbox is filled to the brim with emails, emails, emails from Jody and the rest of the gang. To be fair, the party is kind of a big deal around here, has been for years, but does it really matter what font they’re gonna use for the leaflets? Ain’t nothing wrong with Times New Roman.

Dean tells them as much, hitting ‘send’ with a satisfied smirk on his face. He’s nailing this whole party planning business.

He puts his phone away and cracks open another beer. The day is oppressively hot and Dean can feel beads of sweat running down his neck, mimicking the way condensation leaves little rivulets on his beer bottle. He looks straight ahead, over the neatly mowed lawn and all the way to the neighbor's cornfield where it stretches over the gentle slope of the hill on the other side of the road. It's a view he knows by heart and if he closes his eyes, he can picture they way it will look months from now, when summer is long gone and winter looms over the horizon.

For now though the summer is in full bloom and Dean's chest swells with the kind of hopefulness he hasn't felt in a long time. Something is coming. He can feel it just under his skin, like a buzz that won't be silenced.

And that's when he sees it – a red pickup truck, emerging from the waves of hot air in the distance like a poor man's mirage. Dean knows every car within a 10 mile radius, but he doesn’t recognise this one. It must be the new guest, some photographer from Illinois with a weird name and a propensity for writing formal emails.

Reluctantly, Dean puts his beer on the table and bends down to retrieve his socks and boots from under his chair. He's done fiddling with his shoelaces just as the truck’s tires hit the gravel on the driveway.

Dean stands up and watches as the truck crawls to a stop next to where his Impala is parked. The door opens and a man climbs out. From his vantage point Dean can see that he is tall and slim, with broad shoulders and tanned forearms where they're exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. He's also wearing aviator sunglasses and Dean almost shakes his head. _You're in Iowa, dude_. _Ditch the Top Gun shit._

 

When the man sees him standing on the porch he takes the glasses off and offers Dean a tentative smile. Dean raises his hand in a greeting and makes his way down the wooden steps and towards the driveway.

“Mr. Winchester?” the man asks, walking towards him. The closer he gets the brighter the color of his eyes seems. Blue, like cornflowers growing on the side of the road, Dean thinks.

“Call me Dean,” he says instead, clasping the man's hand with his own.

“Pleasure to finally meet you in person, Dean. I'm Castiel Novak, from the emails.”

Right. Castiel. Can't blame Dean for not remembering the name even after seeing it on the bottom of about a dozen emails he has received from Novak about his stay at the farm. Only now Dean thinks that if he had known the face attached to the name earlier he wouldn't have had any problems remembering it.

“I have to say, this place looks even nicer than in the pictures on your website,” Castiel says, looking around the garden and towards the main house.

Dean preens at the compliment. He's proud of his home. Proud of the old house he has renovated with John when they first moved in and proud of the garden he maintains all by himself, mostly because John wouldn't be caught dead doing anything as effeminate as gardening and Sam always has his nose in a book and is more likely to step on flower beds than to nurture them. So whenever Dean has some time to spare he gets on his knees and tends to the flowers and shrubs he had planted, making sure they can grow and bloom and look pretty.

To have his work scrutinized by this stranger makes Dean nervous, but he does his best not to show it. Instead, he waves his hand dismissively.

“Ain't nothing special,” he says.

“Well, it's far nicer than my cramped apartment in the middle of Chicago,” Castiel says with gentle eagerness. “Especially on a hot day like this, it's good to have some trees around. They cast a far better shade than skyscrapers ever could.”

Dean blinks, unsure how to respond. Castiel is still looking around the garden, as if cataloguing every plant and every pebble. He looks... soft, Dean thinks. Not quite smiling, but clearly pleased. But there are shadows under his eyes and beads of sweat collecting in the hollow of his throat and Dean finally remembers how to be a good host.

“Right,” Dean says. “Do you wanna see your room? I bet you're tired after your flight.”

“I drove here,” Castiel says, matter-of-factly. “From Texas. So yes, I am a little tired.”

“You drove here? All the way from Texas?”

Castiel nods. Dean lets out a low whistle.

“Man, that's a journey and a half.”

Castiel's mouth lifts at the corner. He shrugs his shoulders, as if to say I've had worse.

“I'm not a fan of flying,” he explains. “I used to be, but I prefer driving now, even if takes twelve hours.”

Dean nods his approval.

“Yeah, I hear you. I wouldn't get on one of those death traps even if you paid me.”

He shudders theatrically, hoping to elicit a full-on smile from his guest, but Castiel just averts his eyes and looks down at his feet. Dean could be imagining it, but his expression seems darker, somehow, and more guarded. Nice, Winchester. You somehow managed to fuck up already.

“So, uh, do you need help with your bags?” he says in a lame attempt to salvage the conversation. Thankfully when Castiel looks at him again his eyes are bright and open.

“Yes, if you don't mind.”

They move to the back of the truck and Dean is surprised to see that every square inch is occupied by duffel bags, backpacks and what looks like a big cooler, twice the size of the one Dean takes with him on his fishing trips.

“I'll be damned,” Dean says. “Didn't know you were planning on moving in with us.”

Castiel huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

“Most of it is just my cameras. I've just finished a big assignment on a ranch just outside of Fort Worth. I had to bring nearly all my equipment with me and then of course I drove straight here. But don't worry, I'm not planning to plant my roots here. I'll be out of your hair in two weeks, or even sooner if all goes well.”

Castiel says it lightly, but Dean still feels like a dick for implying that he's not welcomed. He takes the bag Castiel hands him and makes sure to be careful with it. The last thing he wants is to break the guy's expensive gear.

By the time the truck is unloaded they're carrying three bags each and Dean grunts under the weight. The cooler still sits on the back of the truck, but neither one of them is eager to grab it.

“This way,” Dean nods towards the path that leads to the back of the house, where the Barn is. They walk through the garden in companionable silence, save for a few grunts and muttered curses, all coming from Dean. It's too hot to carry heavy bags. Dean can feel his sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging to his back and he hopes that at least he doesn't stink.

The Barn is really just a glorified shed. It was used by the previous owners of the farm to store hay and heavy farming equipment, but when the Winchesters moved in they had no intention to cultivate the land, so the shed was left empty and cold for years. Now though, it stands proud among the trees just on the edge of their property, with a fresh coat of paint and sunflowers growing alongside the front wall. It looks pretty. When Dean steals a glance at Castiel he can tell that his guest thinks so too.

“This is it,” Dean says. “Your home for the next two weeks. Wanna have a look inside?”

Castiel nods eagerly and Dean sets the bags down to fish out the key from his pocket. He hands it to Castiel with a wink.

“You do the honors.”

Inside, the Barn is blissfully cool and they both sigh in relief. They leave the bags at the door and venture further in, Castiel taking the lead and inspecting the little house with rapt interest.

The bottom floor consists of one large room and an open kitchen. Furniture is scarce, but Dean made sure to get all the essentials: a comfortable couch, a couple of mismatched armchairs (all bought at Donna Hanscum's yard sale), a reasonably sized TV and a wobbly little coffee table which Sam made for his school project. The kitchen houses a larger table with a couple of stools gathered around it, as well as various plants sitting comfortably in their bright pots on the windowsills.

At the back, a wooden staircase reaches up to the mazzazine, where the bedroom is. It's not big, but spacious enough and very bright. The only furniture upstairs is a double bed, a large wooden wardrobe and a little desk, which sits by a window overlooking the main house and the cornfields beyond it. It's a nice enough view and Dean can easily imagine Castiel sitting there with his morning coffee, looking out at the fields and meadows of Madison County.

“This is lovely,” Castiel says sincerely. Dean just shrugs.

“It's the best I could do.”

Castiel looks back at him in surprise.

“Are you saying that you did all of this? By yourself?”

“I had help,” Dean shrugs again. “This place used to be a proper barn, but then we moved down here and since we don't know squat about farming we just left it there. It was empty for a really long time and then my brother and I started using it as a hideout spot – you know, like when we had enough of our dad's grumbling or if we just wanted to pretend we were all grown up and had our own house. We started bringing in old furniture and then our uncle Bobby helped us patch up the roof. It was a pretty cool place, like a tree house but bigger and better.”

He smiles at the memory. Castiel smiles too and Dean takes it as an invitation to keep talking.

“But then we grew up and stopped hanging out here that much. And I figured, why not use it for some extra cash? So I rolled up my sleeves and started changing a few things to make it look like a proper B&B kinda place. Sam helped, and my friends, too. Even dad joined in, but he kept saying that I was wasting my time. Who would want to spend their vacation in this shithole?, he said. But I'm as stubborn as they come and I just kept going. In the end, I think it turned out pretty good.”

He smiles proudly, not ashamed to be pleased with how his hard work had turned out. Castiel nods in agreement, looking around again to take it all in.

“I think you and your friends did a really good job. And besides, me being here proves your father wrong. Although I'm sure I'm not your first guest and won't be the last.”

“Well, you're hardly my first, sweetheart,” Dean says with a smirk.

Castiel raises his eyebrows in quiet surprise and Dean almost regrets saying it. Almost.

It's a game he has played many times before in bars and all-night diners all over Iowa, as far away from their little town as he could go without raising his father's suspicion. The trick was to flirt with guys so recklessly, so outrageously that he could easily back-pedal and turn it into a joke if things went sour. Some nights it worked and Dean could have some fun, and then some nights it didn't and Dean had to drive back to Madison County with a black eye and an ache in his heart .

But all that was when he was younger and hungrier for the kind of pleasure and affection he couldn't get from local girls. He has become more dormant in the last few years, more resigned. He hasn't even had the urge to give in to that part of himself in a long time.

That is until about half an hour ago when this blue-eyed stranger rolled into town in his dust-covered truck and ridiculous sunglasses, and now Dean is curious.

And, judging by Castiel's reaction, he might be onto something here. Castiel doesn't smile and doesn't flirt back, but something akin to recognition flashes in his eyes. He holds Dean's gaze for a second too long and to Dean it feels like the game is on.

At last Castiel looks away and the spell is broken.

Dean helps him put all his bags on the couch and then shows him to the bathroom and around the kitchen. He keeps the fridge well-stocked for his guests. There's a fresh bottle of milk, a carton of eggs, some ham, butter and fruit – all local produce, of course, including the loaf of bread on the counter which Dean has kneaded himself that morning.

After that there's really no reason for Dean to hang around, but he's reluctant to go. He hovers in the doorway, desperately trying to come up with an excuse to stay, when he remembers the cooler still sitting on the back of Castiel's truck. Dean offers to bring it in and when Castiel smiles at him gratefully he all but flies back to the car.

The walk back to the Barn takes a little longer and when Dean finally gets there he is out of breath and sweating in places he never knew could sweat.

“You look like you need a beer,” Castiel say when Dean puts the cooler on the kitchen floor and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“It's like you're in brain, man.”

Castiel crouches next to Dean and opens the cooler. The cloud of cold air coming out of it is nearly enough to make Dean sigh in pleasure, but he restrains himself for the sake of not being a total creep. Instead, he watches as Castiel pulls out a bottle of beer and twists the cap off with a well-practised motion. He has nice hands, if a bit rough, with long fingers and slender wrists. Dean imagines what they would look like playing a piano or handling one of Castiel's cameras.

He takes the beer Castiel offers him with a quiet thanks and downs half of it in one go. When he lowers the bottle he thinks he sees Castiel staring at him, but the man looks away so quickly Dean isn't sure he wasn't just imagining it.

“Do you wanna take a walk?” Dean blurts out. He has no idea where that came from and the look on Castiel's face tells him that he is just as surprised. Dean's just about to open his mouth to take it back when Castiel speaks.

“Alright,” he says simply.

They walk out of the Barn with a beer in hand, squinting against the sun. It's hanging low over the horizon, casting a golden shadow over the cornfields and the dusty road.

“The golden hour,” Castiel says. “Perfect light for taking pictures.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that,” Dean says, leading Castiel down a path towards the main road. “And isn't there another hour like that in the morning, at dawn?”

“Yes, but I prefer the time just before the sunset.”

“Is it, like, better for the cameras? Or more artistic?”

Castiel's mouth twitches in amusement.

“No,” he says, “I just hate waking up early.”

Dean huffs a laugh, suddenly embarrassed. He is out of his depth here. He knows nothing about fancy cameras and the art of taking pictures. He only ever uses his phone to snap photos of his friends laughing, a few pictures of pretty things he sees on his walks and an occasional selfie he usually just ends up deleting anyway. But Castiel is a professional photographer, sent down here for a special assignment. Although why anyone would want to take fancy pictures in Iowa, Dean doesn't know.

“So what exactly are you supposed to photograph here, if you don't mind me asking?”

They're walking along the main road now and a car drives past them, giving them a friendly honk. It's Donna, sheriff Mills' deputy. She saw them together, so soon enough the whole town will know that Dean has a new guest at the Barn. There are no secrets in Madison County.

“My editor wants me to shoot the covered bridges in this area.” Castiel explains.

Dean nods. He knows the bridges Castiel is talking about. He also knows they're nothing special. There is only five of them, all made of old, creaking wood and covered in paint, which once could have been bright and charming, but is now faded and chipping away. He can't imagine they would make nice pictures, but perhaps Castiel is skilled enough to make them seem beautiful.

“I've walked across those bridges plenty of times and honestly, I don't think your readers will get their money's worth,” Dean says. “Maybe if you're not from around here the bridges can look kinda cool, but they're not National Geographic level of cool. Wouldn't you rather go to some faraway place to take pictures of, I dunno, some exotic birds or shit?”

Castiel laughs then, low and rumbling. Dean falters in his steps, momentarily distracted by the sight of Castiel tipping his head back in sheer amusement.

“I think you're being too harsh on Iowa,” Castiel says, still smiling. “I'm sure there's plenty of interesting things to photograph here.”

“Don't hold your breath. This is just your run-of-the-mill, box-standard middle of nowhere.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel says. “But I find places like this one to be quite charming. I look forward to spending some time here.”

They continue their walk in silence, content to entertain their own thoughts for a while. Their bottles are empty now, and Dean swings his absent-mindedly to the rhythm of his footsteps.

“You're gonna need a tour guide,” he says eventually, just as they reach a fork in the road. Castiel stops in his tracks and looks at him questioningly.

“If you want to see the real deal, you'll need someone to show you around. Take you places only locals know. I can be your guide,” Dean offers. “If you want,” he adds with a shrug, to make it clear that this is not a big deal, he doesn't mind, really, it's stupid anyway.

Castiel's bright eyes search Dean's face as he considers his offer. Dean stares right back, weirdly nervous. This really isn't a big deal, but Dean still wants Castiel to agree. The idea of spending more time in his company is alluring and Dean's heart beats faster at the idea of showing Castiel all the places he knows and loves.

“I would like that,” Castiel says eventually.

He sounds sincere and Dean's face breaks into an excited grin.

“Awesome.”

They turn around then and walk back towards the farm, kicking up dust with their heavy boots. Dean fills the air between them with cheerful chatter about the little town and all the places Castiel should see and Castiel listens to his babbling with a small smile on his face.

All too soon they're back in the Winchesters' garden. Dean can't see his dad's car anywhere and he sends a quiet thank you to the heavens above. He doesn't want John to meet Castiel, not yet. It's been a pleasant evening and Dean doesn't want it ruined by his father's shitty attitude.

But that's a worry for another day. Right now, Dean feels good. And, if he's honest with himself, a little light-headed, too. Must be the heat.

He wants to invite Castiel into the main house and offer him some home-made lasagne for supper. He also wants to share another beer with him, maybe even open a bottle of Jack. But Castiel is tired and he turns down Dean's offer politely.

“I should call it a night if I want to be productive tomorrow,” he explains with an apologetic smile.

Dean waves it off and wishes him a good night. He watches as Castiel disappears into the Barn and only turns away when a soft wave of light spills out of the guest bedroom window.

It's getting dark and Dean checks his watch. Sam should be back any minute now. God only knows when John will be home and what state he'll be in. Dean considers staying outside until Eileen's mom drops Sam off, but he doesn't feel like being out in the growing darkness all by himself. Instead he climbs up the wooden steps of the porch and swings the kitchen door open. The room is dim, so he turns the light on and shuts the door to stop moths and mosquitoes from flying in.

He's halfway through his portion of reheated lasagne when Sam comes in, all goofy smiles and shining eyes.

“Had fun?” Dean asks innocently. Sam is too smart to fall for that so he just flips Dean off and grabs a fork to help himself to Dean's food.

“Eileen says hi,” he tells Dean. “And so does Kevin.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at his younger brother.

“That's right, Kevin was there too,” Sam confirms with a smug look on his face. “We watched a film together and ordered pizza. Because we're all friends. And that's what friends do. They just hang out together, no biggie.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean nods, not giving up. “So tell me, what else do friends do? Do they stare at each other adoringly? Talk on the phone for hours and send each other good morning texts? Do they steal glances when the other one isn't looking?”

Sam scrunches up his face in disgust.

“Eileen and I have never done any of that,” he insists, but the color in his cheeks betrays him, much to Dean's delight.

“Dude, you do this shit all the time. It's sickening.”

“First of all, no we do not. Second of all, fuck you. And thirdly, why are you creeping on us, anyway? Don't you have your own life to obsess over?”

“I don't, actually. But thanks for asking, smartass,” Dean grumbles. “Go have a shower, you reek. No wonder you're only friends with Eileen, who would want to date a sweaty skunk like you?”

Sam rolls his eyes as he leaves the kitchen, flipping Dean off one more time for good measure. Dean smiles at his brother's retreating back and shoves more food in his mouth.

He can hear the water running in the upstairs bathroom so, naturally, he takes his dishes to the sink and rinses them off in hot water, eliciting a startled yelp from Sam. Satisfied with his little prank, he grabs a beer from the fridge and goes back out into the night.

It's much cooler now, almost refreshing. Dean takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with sweet summer air. He leans his elbows on the porch railing and looks up at the Barn. Light spills out of the window upstairs and Dean catches a glimpse of Castiel moving around in his bedroom. He looks away, his face heating up with embarrassment, and takes a long swig from his bottle.

It's not long before the light goes out and the garden is hidden in the shadows again. Dean stays on the porch a little longer, enjoying the calm of the evening, before he too goes back inside and turns the lights off.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Castiel leaves the Barn the next morning the sun greets him with a warm kiss to his face. He smiles at the blue sky and the faint smell of grass in the warm air. It's still early and the day feels clear and perfect. Castiel almost regrets not waking up sooner to catch the sunrise. On a day like this it must have been spectacular.

He makes his way through the garden, following one of the winding little paths that run across the spacious lawn and around the flower beds like an intricate cobweb made of pebble stones. As he walks towards the back porch he wonders which one of the Winchesters tends to the garden. Dean only mentioned his father and a younger brother, could it be one of them? Is there a Mrs. Winchester who has a penchant for gardening? Somehow Castiel doubts it. He has only spent one evening with Dean and doesn't really know him well, but still this garden, this green oasis against the unforgiving summer heat, seems like something Dean would like to take care of. It's well loved, just like the Barn. Dean seems like the kind of person who has a lot of love in him and is very generous with it.

The old wooden porch creaks invitingly under Castiel's weight. He knocks on the kitchen door and takes a steadying breath as he waits for Dean to open it. But when the door swings open there is no Dean on the other side, just a lanky young man in an Iron Man t-shirt.

“Hello,” Castiel says tentatively. “I'm Castiel.”

“Yeah, I figured,” the boy says with an easy smile. He sticks his hand out for Castiel to shake. “I'm Sam Winchester, so nice to meet you! How was your first night here? Did you sleep well?”

Castiel shakes Sam's hand, noting the strong, confident grip.

“Very well, thank you. The guest house is so comfortable and quiet, I couldn't have asked for more.”

Sam beams at him and invites him inside.

Castiel follows him into the kitchen, taking in how bright and warm it looks. It's a bit old-fashioned, with outdated furniture and a stove that has seen better times. But there's also a vase with fresh flowers on the kitchen table and not a speck of dust on any counter, proving to anyone who steps in here that this place, though humble, is being taken care of.

Castiel can also see a few family photographs stuck to the fridge with colorful magnets and a little radio sitting on one of the shelves, soft music coming out of its speakers. It's a cozy, well-lived in space and the wear and tear on the furniture and cupboards only makes it look more welcoming. Castiel feels at ease here.

“Dean's not in right now, but he's asked me to keep an eye on you and make sure you've got everything you need,” Sam says as he busies himself around the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thank you. I had some with my breakfast.”

Sam gestures for Castiel to sit at the table and then pours him a glass of water and a cup of coffee for himself. He sits on the chair opposite Castiel and flashes him a friendly smile.

“Dean said you were a photographer. Are you really gonna take pictures of this town?”

“That's the plan, yes,” Castiel nods. “Dean offered to show me around. That's actually why I'm here. I was hoping he could come with me to the town centre, maybe even to one of the covered bridges nearby. I'd like to familiarize myself with the area before I start working on the pictures. Do you know when he'll be home?”

Castiel tries not to sound too hopeful. He doesn't really need Dean's help, he just wants his company. Dean has been on his mind since last night, bright and insistent, and Castiel is anxious to see him again.

“Dean won't be home until five, I think,” Sam says. “He usually doesn't work on weekends but one of the guys at the garage asked him to cover his shift and Dean couldn't say no. Garth recently had a baby, you see, so he's not getting a lot of sleep, and you kinda need to be lucid to fix people's cars. So Dean's been picking up extra shifts for the last month or so”

Castiel nods understandingly and masks his disappointment by taking a sip of water.

“But,” Sam goes on, “Since I promised to take care of you in Dean's absence I'm happy to show you around town. And maybe, if we'll lucky, we'll get to have lunch with Dean on his break.”

Castiel doesn't need convincing. Two minutes later he's clearing out the passenger's seat in his truck while Sam locks the door.

The drive to town center isn't long and Castiel spends it listening to Sam's cheerful blabber. Much to his surprise, Castiel finds himself enjoying the boy's company. Even after brief interactions with the brothers Castiel can tell that they're very different from one another, much like he and Gabriel are. Where Dean comes off as a little guarded, Sam is an open book. He talks a lot about the town and mentions a few of the friends he and Dean have there. He also asks Castiel questions about his job and responds with enthusiasm when Castiel offers to teach him a little about photography. When they finally park the car on a quiet street near the main square Castiel feels that he and Sam could become good friends.

The town square isn't as busy as Castiel imagined. As they walk down the street towards the town hall he can see that every diner and every café is full of people seeking refuge from the unrelenting midday sun. Only a few brave ones are milling around on the streets or lounging lazily on the luscious lawn in front of the hall.

While they walk, Castiel catalogs every little detail of the town. There's nothing particularly special about the place, but to Castiel that's part of its charm. The town is quiet and pleasant, and looks almost pretty in the golden sunshine.

Sam points out a few key places to him, like the grocery store with only local products or the diner with the best burgers in town, where they agree to meet for lunch in a couple of hours. After that Sam is off to run some errands and Castiel is free to roam the town on his own.

He starts by finding a library, tucked away just around the corner from Benny's burger diner. The building is old, but well-maintained, and Castiel is impressed by the extensive collection of novels and non-fiction alike.

But as much as he would love to find an interesting book he could read on a bench outside, he is here on a work assignment and has no time for pleasures. So he walks past the fiction section all the way to the back of the library, where town records are stored.

Back in the 60s, another photographer of the name Robert Kincaid came down to Madison County on the exact same assignment as Castiel. His pictures of the bridges made it on the cover of National Geographic and now, decades later, Castiel's editor wants a re-shoot. A sort of _where are they now_ collection, to showcase the bridges past their glory days. It's a miracle they're still standing, Tessa said. Photographing them would be like capturing ghosts on film.

Castiel has studied Kincaid's pictures before taking the assignment and is well familiar with them. Now that he's here, in the same town as his predecessor, he's glad to find that issue of National Geographic still buried among newspaper clippings and old magazines.

He spends a little time leafing through it, taking inspiration from every picture and wondering what the bridges look like now. He then moves on to other records, keen to see the town through their lens and get a feel of the place. It's his usual routine when on a job like this one and the familiarity of it makes him lose track of time. It's only when he gets up to get his second cup of coffee that he realizes it's time to meet Sam for lunch.

Benny's diner is buzzing, but somehow Sam managed to find a booth for them. He waves at Castiel and moves his shopping bags to the floor to make room for him.

“Hello, Sam” Castiel says once he's seated. “I see you've been busy.”

“A little bit, yeah. What did you do?”

While Castiel recounts his trip to the library they are approached by a tall man wearing chef whites. He has broad shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard, and his kind blue eyes shine with affection when he sees Sam.

“Sam Winchester, as I live and breathe,” the man drawls. “Haven't seen you in here in weeks. Did you find a better burger place or somethin'?”

“Hi, Benny,” Sam says, shaking the man's hand. “Nah, I've just been busy with school.”

“Oh yeah? Have you heard anythin' about your scholarship?”

“Not yet,” Sam admits. He's tearing out little bits of paper from a napkin, a telltale sign of nervousness. Castiel can sympathize. Applying for colleges is hardly a relaxing task.

“How have you been?” Sam asks, eager to change the subject.

“Not bad, thanks. Who's your friend?”

Castiel introduces himself to Benny, who turns out to be the owner of the place. Benny is polite and doesn't ask any questions, which Castiel appreciates. It's clear that people here see him as an outsider. He has noticed it in the library, and now in the diner, too: people looking at him with interest or thinly veiled hostility, as if to say 'we're okay with you being here... for now'. The last thing he wants is the owner of a popular diner asking him questions on why here's here. He'd rather not advertise that fact that he was sent here to photograph the town for a major publication. He can't imagine that would sit well with the locals.

Benny leaves them a menu, but Sam doesn't even bother looking at it.

“I've been here so many times I know everything they serve by heart,” he explains with a shrug.

Castiel, on the other hand, is at a loss. There are so many combinations available and all of them sound amazing. Sam lets him to take his time with choosing the right burger and Castiel is grateful for it.

Once he's done a young girl stops by their booth to take their orders. Her name tag says _Krissy_ and her attitude says _I hate this place and everyone in it._

“I'll have a double cheeseburger with bacon, no onion, and a lemonade, please,” Castiel says, offering the girl a warm smile she does not reciprocate.

“And for you?” she asks Sam, barely sparing him a glance.

“Number 11, but with salad instead of fries. And the usual for Dean.”

Krissy scribbles their orders on a note pad, pops her gum and walks away without another word.

Castiel uses the lull in the conversation to take a few steadying breaths. Even though he has spent all morning wishing Dean was the one sitting in the passenger seat of his truck or that he could join him in the library to make research more bearable he now feels nervous about seeing him again.

When he first heard about this assignment from Tessa he wasn't particularly thrilled. It was only when he made his way down the winding country roads towards Madison County that he felt the first beat of excitement at the prospect of spending two weeks in a quiet and picturesque part of the country. By the time his truck reached the Winchesters' farm he was impatient to take his equipment out of the duffel bags and start working on this project, which he thought would be fairly easy and even relaxing.

That is until he saw Dean Winchester walking towards him through the garden, with his sun-kissed skin and easy bravado, and Castiel knew the assignment would be anything but easy.

“Dean!” Sam exclaims, bringing Castiel out of his reverie.

Castiel turns in his seat just in time to see Dean walking in through the door. His eyes scan the crowded room until they land on Sam, who's waving his hand frantically to get his brother's attention. Dean smiles brightly at Sam and then his eyes meet Castiel's and a deep blush spreads across his cheeks. Castiel looks away and doesn't meet Dean's eyes again until Dean sits opposite him and Castiel can no longer pretend he doesn't see him.

“Hello, Dean,” he says simply.

Dean nods at him, a little shy.

“Hi, Castiel. Didn't know you were here with Sam. Did he show you around?”

“A little, yes. I spent most of the morning in the library, though.”

“Ah, the library. It sure is the most exciting part of the town,” Dean deadpans.

Beside him, Sam rolls his eyes. He looks like he's suffered through too many of Dean's jokes and just wants to get off the ride. Castiel, on the other hand, cracks a little smile.

“I just wanted to have a look at the town records and get a feel of this place before I start photographing it,” Castiel explains.

“Nah, that's not the way to do it,” Dean counters. He puts his elbows on the table and leans closer to Castiel. Instinctively, Castiel mirrors his pose. “I told you, if you want to see this place for what it really is you need to mingle with the locals. Old photographs and newspaper clippings ain't gonna cut it.”

“Yes, well,” Castiel says in an even tone, “they only local I know wasn't available to give me a tour, so I had to resort to secondary measures.”

“And that's on me,” Dean admits, spreading his arms in a placating gesture. “So let me make it up to. I can pick you up after work and then we can go wherever you want. How about that?”

Castiel pretends to consider the offer.

“We can do that,” he says with a nod. “Will you take me to one of the covered bridges? I'd like to take a few practice shots before I start working on them properly.”

“Okay, sure. I can take you to the Roseman Bridge. It's not far from the farm and out of all of them it looks least likely to collapse any second.”

Castiel smiles at Dean and he returns it with ease.

Krissy chooses that moment to deliver their food, which she places in front of them with a short _There_.

“Ain't she a ray of sunshine,” Dean quips at her retrieving back.

Without further ado he gets started on his food and Castiel watches in fascination as he shoves fistfuls of fries in his mouth.

With Dean too busy chewing and Castiel too mesmerised to look away the burden of carrying the conversation lies solely on Sam's shoulders.

“So, Castiel,” he starts, pointedly ignoring Dean's loud chewing, “Do you travel a lot for your work?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Castiel admits, tearing his eyes away from the drop of ketchup running down Dean's chin. The man eats like an animal and Castiel wishes he didn't find it endearing.

“Whuss wong wiff twawell'n?” Dean mumbles around his bite.

“I guess there's nothing wrong with travelling per se,” Castiel replies thoughtfully. “I've just been doing it for nearly ten years and I'm starting to wish I could have more stability in my life.”

Dean hums in understanding as he swallows his food.

“Yeah, I hear you. We used to move from one place to another a lot when we were kids. Never staying anywhere for longer than a few months, a year tops. It was kinda cool at first, but got really old real quick.”

“Why did you move around so much, if you don't mind me asking?”

He sees Sam and Dean exchange a meaningful look and immediately wants to take the question back.

“I'm sorry, you don't have to-” he starts, but is interrupted by Dean.

“No, it's fine,” Dean says. Sam nods in confirmation. “It's not a big deal. We had to move around a lot after our mom died. I was eight, Sammy was just a baby with snot all over his face. No other family, just two kids and a father who lost the love of his life. I guess he was trying to quite literally run away from his grief. Plus, you know, it's kinda hard to hold on to a job when you show up drunk every day. Sooner or later you're gonna get your ass fired and have to look for luck somewhere else.”

Dean says it like it's nothing, but his lips pressed in a thin line betray how he really feels. Castiel exhales, not sure what to say. He feels stupid for asking and even more dumb for not knowing how to respond. Both Sam and Dean are strangers to him and they have shown him generous kindness and hospitality. He should not have repaid them by prying into their private lives.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he says sincerely, holding Dean's gaze.

Dean just shrugs.

“It's okay. Like I said, not a big deal.”

He goes back to his food, seemingly unaffected, and eventually Sam and Castiel do the same. Castiel empties his plate in record time. The food here really is as good as advertised and he promises himself to come back again the next day.

“Man, that was awesome,” Dean sighs happily. He stretches in his seat and Castiel catches a glimpse of tanned skinned where Dean's white t-shirt rides up. He looks away quickly, hoping neither of the Winchesters saw him staring.

They are approached once again by Benny. This time he is carrying three plates, each with a slice of pie and two scoops of ice cream on it. At the sight of dessert Dean's eyes light up and he looks up at Benny with sheer adoration.

“A man after my own heart,” he says dreamily. He even bats his eyelashes at Benny for good measure, and suddenly Castiel's good mood evaporates.

He watches in growing disappointment as Benny laughs and squeezes Dean's shoulder.

“You keep sweet-talkin' me like that and I might just leave my wife for you, sugar,” he says with a wink.

Dean's smile grows and he swats at Benny's chest with the back of his hand.

“Keep it in your pants, Benny, jeez.”

Now both Benny and Sam are laughing, and Castiel forces a smile. Benny hovers over their table for a little longer, chatting to both brothers, but Castiel tunes them out in favour of stewing in his own thoughts.

He's surprised by his reaction to the innocent exchange between Dean and Benny. It's obvious that they're good friends who know each other well, and since apparently Benny is married, their flirting was nothing more than an inside joke.

Still, the memory of Dean's face, lit up with mirth at Benny's easy banter, presses heavily on Castiel's heart. It reminds him of the comment Dean made last evening when he said, in the most outrageously suggestive way, that Castiel was hardly his first. He even called him _sweetheart._ At the time Castiel took it as an intended flirtation, and even though he did not respond to it, it ignited in him hope that maybe Dean was just like him and that maybe, down the line, something could happen between them.

Now, though, it's clear that he was wrong.

And just like that, the prospect of spending the evening with Dean again doesn't make his heart beat faster, anymore. It makes his stomach drop.

Eventually Benny leaves their table with one last friendly squeeze to Dean's shoulder. Castiel's eyes linger on where his hand touched Dean and he wonders, against his better judgement, what it would feel like to let his own fingers roam freely over Dean's bare skin. The thought sends a jolt of pleasure down to his very core and he shakes his head to free himself from it. This is not the time, this not the place.

After their meal it's time for Dean to get back to the garage. He puts a few bills on the table and shushes Castiel's insisting that he can pay for his share.

“You can buy me lunch next time.”

All three of them leave the diner together and walk down the sun-flooded street to where Dean's car is parked. It's a beautiful black beast and Castiel admires the way the sun reflects of its every surface. Much like the garden, the car, too, looks well-loved.

“It's a '67 Chevy Impala,” Dean informs him with pride. “My dad bought it when he started going out with mom and then gave it to me when I turned eighteen. She's a beauty, isn't she?”

“She certainly is,” Castiel agrees, thinking of his own truck and how it looks like a stray mongrel compared to Dean's show dog of a car.

“Listen, buddy,” Dean says, catching Castiel's eye. “I was thinking, I might need your phone number. You know, in case I need to stay longer at work and can't make our...” he pauses then and licks his lips. “Can't take you to the bridges this evening” he finishes.

Castiel feels like a teenager again as he puts his number in Dean's phone. It's stupid, he knows, but he still can't help the blush from spreading over his face as he hands his phone back to Dean.

“Thanks, sweet cheeks,” Dean says with a wink.

Over Dean's shoulder Castiel can see Sam rolling his eyes.

“Don't you have somewhere to be, Dean?” Sam says, shoving his brother towards the car.

Reluctantly, Dean gets in and starts the engine. He gives a little wave to Castiel and the middle finger to Sam, and then drives away.

“He's such an asshole,” Sam says fondly.

With nothing better to do Sam agrees to go back to the library with Castiel. They walk across the town square again and sigh in relief when they enter the cool foyer of the library. Castiel makes his way back to the section with town records, while Sam takes his time looking for a sci-fi book he could borrow.

Castiel chooses an empty table at the back of the library and makes it his HQ, covering it with documents and newspaper clippings he finds interesting. He takes notes as he reads and occasionally takes a sip of his coffee from the library's vending machine. Sam settles himself on the chair opposite Castiel with a copy of Stanislaw Lem's _Solaris._ It's a pleasant afternoon spent in good company and Castiel's thoughts of Dean are pushed to the side for the time being.

That is until his phone buzzes and a message from an unknown number pops up on the screen.

 

**2:20pm**

_hey cas, it's dean. how's it going?_

 

Castiel smiles in surprise. He reads the message again, pausing over the nickname. It's been a while since anyone called him anything other than _Castiel._ But _Cas_ has a nice ring to it and he wonders how that name would sound if Dean said it out loud.

He saves Dean's number before replying.

 

**Cas, 2:23pm**

_Hello, Dean. I'm fine, just looking through more records at the library. How are you?_

 

**Dean, 2:24pm**

_sweating my ass off. working under these conditions should be illegal. is sam with u?_

 

**Cas, 2:25pm**

_Yes, he's reading a book._

 

**Dean, 2:25pm**

_nerds_

 

**Dean, 2:27pm**

_you should check out the fantasy section though. some pretty good stuff there_

 

**Dean, 2:27pm**

_and the history section too. that one is my favorite_

 

**Cas, 2:29pm**

_I didn't know you were such an avid reader._

 

**Dean, 2:30pm**

_I'm more than just good looks, Cas_

 

Castiel suppresses a chuckle. Before he can reply his phone buzzes with more texts from Dean.

 

**Dean, 2:27pm**

_man I can't wait to get off from work and take u to that bridge._

 

**Dean, 2:27pm**

_it's kinda lame but i think u'll like it_

 

**Dean, 2:28pm**

_there's a big willow tree right by the river. we could sit there and have a couple of beers if u want???_

 

Castiel's palms feel a bit sweaty so he puts his phone down to wipe them on his jeans. When he grabs his phone again he goes through the texts two more times, soaking up the meaning behind them. Perhaps he was right the day before when he sensed that Dean was interested in him. Maybe there was something there after all.

 

**Dean, 2:30pm**

_cas u there???_

 

**Cas, 2:31pm**

_I'm here. I'd like that very much._

 

**Dean, 2:31pm**

_awesome. i'll see u tonight cas_

 

**Cas, 2:32pm**

_See you soon, Dean_

 

When he puts his phone back in his pocket he feels lighter, almost giddy. The clock on the library wall says it's still a couple more hours before Dean finishes his shift. Castiel wills the time go by faster.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146072938@N08/31758899608/in/album-72157701453892241/)

 

Dean is drumming his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. He usually enjoys driving home from work, especially on a bright afternoon when the sun warms his face and makes him slow down to enjoy the ride. Today, though, he is in a rush and that tractor in front of him better speed up or so help him God, he's gonna cut across Frank Deveraux's corn field just to finally, finally get home.

Eventually he takes a right turn off the main road and drives freely towards the farm. From the distance he can see Castiel's bright red truck where it's parked in the shade of a maple tree, the same one Sam once fell out of, nearly breaking his arm. Many tears were spilled that day, half of them by Dean, but in the end it was just a sprained wrist and a few bruises. That didn't stop John from lashing out on Dean for not looking out for his brother, but Dean doesn't like to dwell on that.

When he pulls up, Sam waves at him from the front porch. Castiel is nowhere to be seen, but that's probably for the best. After eight hours of fixing engines and sweating his ass off Dean knows he is in a desperate need of a shower. A bit of cologne and a fresh shirt on his back should work wonders, too.

“Hiya, Sammy,” he says, joining Sam on the porch. Without asking he reaches for Sam's glass of lemonade and gulps it down, ignoring Sam's loud protests. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks around.

“Where's Cas?”

“My day was fine, thank you for asking,” Sam says in a sickly-sweet tone. “How was yours?”

“Quit being a little bitch. Where's Cas?”

Sam sighs and points towards the back of the garden.

“He's in the Barn. Said he needed to get his cameras ready before you guys went out to see the bridges.”

“Huh. What about dad?”

“I don't know, I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. I don't even think he came home last night.”

Sam says it with a disinterested shrug, like he couldn't care less about where their dad was, but Dean knows it's just a mask. Underneath it, Sam is just as worried as Dean is, and probably twice as pissed.

“Alright, I'll text Jody, see if he turned up for work,” Dean says, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

Jody Mills, the town's sheriff, is the closest thing to a parent Dean and Sam has had since their mom died. She has performed no end of small miracles for the brothers, from teaching Dean how to cook to not firing their father even after he had repeatedly showed up at work reeking of booze. That woman is a saint in Dean's book.

His phone buzzes with Jody's reply.

“She says dad is at work,” Dean tells Sam. “Apparently he was a mess when he showed up this morning, but Rufus poured enough coffee into him to get him on his feet again. So all is well, I guess.”

Sam scoffs.

“If that's your definition of _well_ , than sure, it's a-okay.”

“Hey man, what do you want me to do?” Dean is getting defensive now and he has to take a deep breath to stop himself from lashing out on Sam. “I can't keep him from doing this stupid shit, you know I can't!”

“I know, I know,” Sam says placatingly. He runs his fingers through his hair and exhales deeply. “I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you.”

“I know,” Dean says.

“I'm pissed at him.”

“I know,” Dean repeats, deflated. “Me too.”

Sam just nods.

“At least he won't see you sneaking out with Cas,” he says after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. Still, it rings alarm bells in Dean's head. He looks at Sam with wide, panicked eyes.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, straining to keep his voice even.

“I'm talking about you taking Cas to see that bridge. That's like a date, right?”

Sam says it so casually, like it's something they discuss freely on a daily basis. In reality, Dean has never told Sam about his... _thing_ for men. Never tried to hide it either (he hates lying to Sammy), but always just assumed he was doing a good enough job of not advertising that side of himself that Sam would simply never notice. Clearly, though, Dean is not as subtle as he thought he was.

He knows this is the perfect opportunity to get it all out in the open. To admit to Sam that he's developing a ridiculous crush on Cas, a photographer from Illinois with wild dark hair and stunning blue eyes, and a sense of humor so dry Dean can't always tell if he's joking or not.

He could say all of those things, and more. How his first kiss wasn't with his girlfriend Robin on homecoming night but with Victor Henriksen the year before, on a cold autumn evening behind uncle Bobby's scrap yard. How he has had a crush on Indiana Jones since he was eight, and how he once fell in love with a guy called Zeke, but had to break it off in fear of John finding out.

Dean could say all of those things to his brother, but instead he shakes his head and forces a laugh, despite the pounding of his heart.

“A date? Are you crazy? I'm just trying to help him out. He's a guest here, you know. Gotta score good reviews on Trip Advisor.” He laughs again and it sounds hollow to his own ears.

Sam knows him too well to buy into his bullshit. The look he gives Dean is so open and honest that Dean feels exposed in the worst possible way. Suddenly, he's angry at Sam for implying that he is... that he likes...

“Screw you, Sam,” Dean spits out.

Sam doesn't even flinch.

“Dean,” he says softly. “I just hope you guys have fun. And if dad comes home – that's a big _if_ – I won't say anything to him.”

He gives Dean one last reassuring look before disappearing into the house. The kitchen door closes behind him and suddenly the garden seems very quiet, the air almost stifling. Dean sinks into Sam's chair, feeling the weight of his bones.

Sam knows. Of course he does.

He doesn't lift his head up until he hears footsteps on the grass. Castiel comes to a stop at the bottom of porch steps, his head tilted and his eyes soften with worry.

“Dean?” he asks, his usually deep voice now sounding sweet and almost tender. “Are you alright?”

Dean straightens in his chair and gives him a lopsided grin, a performance he has practised to perfection.

“Good to see you, Cas. I'm fine, just a little tired.”

“I'm not surprised,” Castiel says with an understanding nod.

He climbs on the porch, the old wood creaking under his weight, and leans against the railing opposite Dean. He looks fresh and relaxed in worn out jeans and a grey t-shirt. His hair is a little wet from a recent shower and his five o'clock shadow is replaced by smooth skin and a faint smell of an after-shave. Dean gives him a once-over, as subtly as he can, then remembers himself and looks down at his hands clasped in his lap.

“You don't have to come with me if you're too tired,” Cas says. “I'm sure I can find my way there without any assistance. They have maps in Iowa, don't they?” Castiel's eyes twinkle with humor, but Dean doesn't have to look too deep into them to find disappointment there too.

“Oh, I don't know, Cas,” he teases. “The road to Roseman Bridge is pretty dangerous. I wouldn't want to have your life on my conscience.”

Castiel's mouth twitches with amusement, but he hides it well to keep up their little game.

“Dangerous, you say? What kind of dangers could possibly be lurking in Iowan corn fields?”

“You've obviously never read _Children of the Corn_ , have you?”

Castiel throws his head back and laughs. The sound is beautiful and infectious, and it lifts the weight off Dean's shoulders. When Castiel looks at him again his eyes are full of mirth, with laugh lines etched delicately on his skin. He looks gorgeous like this, framed against the summer sky, and the last of Dean's resolve breaks.

“I'm a man of my word, Cas,” he says, standing up. He takes a step towards Castiel, then another, until they are standing close enough that he can see droplets of water still clinging to Castiel's hair.

“I've already let you down once today and I'm not planning on doing it again. I'll take you to Roseman Bridge. I'll show you around. Just give me ten minutes to shower and change, okay?”

Castiel's eyes are brighter than before as they rake over Dean's face, cataloging every freckle and every dimple.

“I'll go get my cameras, then,” he says. “And my cooler. You mentioned something about beers?”

It's Dean's turn to laugh. He pats Cas' shoulder and lets his hand linger there for just a second.

“Don't worry, I bought a six-pack on my way home. I'll see you here in ten?”

Dean stays on the porch for another minute, watching as Castiel makes his way back to the Barn. Once Cas disappears inside the guest house Dean, too, goes inside and up the wooden stairs to the only bathroom in the house. He strips of his dirty clothes and gets under the shower, relishing in the cool spray of water on his over-heated skin. He soaps up his body and shampoos his hair, and the little ritual helps him to clear his head.

By the time he steps out of the shower and towels himself dry he is no longer upset about his conversation with Sam. He feels relieved, actually. So far the only person he has come out to is Charlie, his best friend, and the only reason why he had the guts to do it was because she had come out to him first. But now Sammy knows too and apparently is fine with it, and that's a good thing.

Dean keeps telling himself that as he puts on a fresh pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and his favorite red plaid shirt. He uses his best cologne and even styles his hair, just so, then looks in satisfaction at his reflection in the big mirror on his wardrobe door.

On his way out he sticks his head in Sam's room to say goodbye.

“I'm going out with Cas,” he says, the choice of words deliberate. They feel weird on his tongue, but Dean is reassured by how unfazed Sam is.

“Cool,”he says simply. “Have fun. And for the love of God, knock next time.”

Dean runs down the stairs, feeling lighter than he has in a very long time. Castiel is already waiting for him on the porch with a bag of equipment slung over his shoulder and a cooler at his feet.

“We might have to take your truck,” Dean tells him as they walk towards the maple tree where both of their cars are parked. “My Baby was made for open roads, not narrow country lanes. I don't want her to get hurt.”

Castiel gives him a curious look, almost fond, but doesn't comment. He simply takes his car keys out of the pocket of his jeans and leads Dean to his truck. While Cas puts his equipment on the back of the truck Dean brings over the six-pack stored in his Baby's trunk and slides the bottles into Castiel's cooler. He's trying hard not to think too much about how the evening might go. He just wants to spend more time in Cas' company, that's all. No hopes, no agendas.

“Ready?” Castiel asks. At Dean's reassurance he walks over to the passenger's side and holds the door open for him. Dean's heart flutters stupidly at the gesture.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, embarrassed, as he climbs into the passenger's seat.

Cas closes the door gently, walks around the front of the truck to the driver's side and slides behind the wheel with practised ease. While he adjusts his mirrors Dean looks around, taking in the interior of the car. It's a bit messy, but in a way that suggests Castiel spends a lot of time in the truck, almost like it's his second home. There are maps and papers sticking out of the pockets on the side of the doors and an empty coffee cup in the holder by the gearbox. There's also a postcard from Las Vegas taped to the dashboard and a rosary wrapped around the mirror, swaying lightly in the breeze. It's an odd combination, almost blasphemous, and Dean wonders just what kind of person Castiel really is. He hopes to find out at Roseman Bridge.

“Where to?” Castiel asks as he pulls out of the farm's driveway towards the main road.

“You know the crossroads we walked to yesterday? Take a left turn there, then straight on until I tell you where to turn again.”

“Roger that,” Cas says. “How far is it from here?”

“I dunno. Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Do you want the radio on?”

Dean says _Sure_ and reaches over to the little dial on the radio. Castiel, whose eyes are focused on the road ahead, moves his hand there too and their fingers brush, ever so lightly, before they both pull back.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles, not sure if Cas can hear him over the rumble of the engine.

“Go ahead and choose a station,” Cas says, with just a hint of pink in his cheeks.

Dean fiddles with the dial, trying to find a frequency that offers decent music. He hesitates when he reaches the station he usually listens to when he's not alone in the car. It plays classic rock, hard tunes he knows by heart and has learned to love when he was little, singing along with his dad. But he's not in the mood for that, so he changes it to a station he listens to when it's just him and his Baby. The soft voice of an old crooner seeps out of the speakers, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the road.

Dean relaxes in his seat and chances a glance at Castiel. He's still watching the road intently, but there's a small smile on his face.

“I love this song,” Cas says. His sharp profile looks so alluring Dean has to force himself to look away.

“Me too,” he admits. “My mom used to sing it to me sometimes, when I couldn't sleep. She had a beautiful voice.”

Normally Dean would be too embarrassed to confess anything this personal, but he isn't afraid to do it in front of Cas. There is something so sincere about the man that Dean knows he would never mock him. And Dean's right. Castiel rewards his little confession with an understanding smile, more apparent in his eyes than on his lips.

They listen to the song in comfortable silence until it fizzles out, replaced by loud radio commercials.

“So, Cas,” Dean says. “Got any family?”

“An older brother,” Castiel replies, turning the volume down so that they can talk easily. “His name is Gabriel. He owns a club in Vegas.”

“Seriously?” Dean is equal parts surprised and impressed. “That's awesome.”

Castiel huffs. “I should have known you would think that.”

“You don't like what he does for a living?”

“It's not that,” Cas shakes his head. “I'm proud of him, I really am. He worked hard to get there. I just wish he wouldn't... force me to enjoy myself in his club every time I come to visit.”

“He _forces_ you to have fun?” Dean laughs, incredulous. “So what, he buys you a few drinks and drags you to the dance floor?”

“Not quite. There are strippers involved. I don't want to talk about it.”

Dean stares at the side of Castiel's face, looking for a sign that he's joking. Cas looks stoic as a statute and Dean huffs in defeat.

“Man, your brother sounds awesome. If that's how he treats his guests maybe I should pay him a visit.”

“Yes, I think you two would get along.”

“What about your parents?” Dean asks, hoping he's not prying too much. Then, “Turn the next right, by that big yellow house.”

“My dad died when Gabe and I were in high school,” Cas says, in a matter of fact tone. He takes the turn and waves off Dean's _I'm sorry, Cas_.

“It's okay,” Cas assures him. “At least we were a bit older when it happened. I can't imagine what you and Sam went through when you lost your mom so young.”

”What happened to your dad? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Plane crash,” Cas says.

Ricky Nelson is singing now, but neither one of them pays him any attention.

“Is that why you drive instead of flying?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas nods in confirmation, but doesn't say anything else. Dean takes it as his cue to back down, even tough he still has a million questions to ask. He reminds himself that this evening will not be his only chance. After all, Cas is staying with them for two weeks. If Dean's lucky, there will be more evenings like this one, when it's just the two of them and an open road, paved with near infinite possibilities.

Dean gives Cas a few more directions and soon enough they drive off of the main road and onto a quiet dirt lane. It's riddled with pot holes and Dean is silently glad that they didn't take his Baby. She wouldn't have enjoyed this part of the drive.

The road is framed by cornfields on either side, stretching greedily until they reach the edge of the woods on the left and a large farm on the right. Ahead of them Dean can see Roseman Bridge, towering over the fields in all its painted glory. The stream bellow it glistens happily, like liquid sunshine, drawing them in and inviting them to walk into the water.

It's picturesque, almost like a corny postcard. Dean understands now why Cas was sent here. This view has been sitting on his doorstep for years, and it took a stranger in a red truck for Dean to really see it.

“It's right there,” Dean says unnecessarily.

“It's beautiful.” Cas sounds almost at awe, even though Dean is sure he must have seen countless more breathtaking views in his line of work. Maybe Cas is just one of those people who can see beauty in every little thing. Like raindrops on flower petals and dandelions blowing in the wind. Or some other shit Dean never bothered to look at, always too focused on the mundane to let his head reach the clouds.

They park the truck on the side of the road, just a few steps away from the bridge. Up close it doesn't seem quite so dreamlike, with chipped paint and initials of local kids carved into the wood. But there is no disappointment in Castiel's eyes, only quiet determination as he walks towards the bridge.

Cas examines it closely, running his hand over the white banisters and leaning over to look down at the lazy stream below. He then takes a few steps forward until he reaches the covered part of the bridge, so dim despite the brightness seeping in through cracks in the roof. Dean stays a few steps behind him, not wanting to be in Cas' way while he works.

There is another reason why Dean is happy to linger by the truck. From his safe point he can watch Cas freely, admiring the way he moves with such purpose, only to stop a second later to admire a part of the bridge anyone else probably wouldn't find worth their time. It's endearing how serious Cas is about his assignment. It fills Dean with a sense of giddiness, as if he is watching an artist wet his brush with the tip of his tongue, ready to start on his masterpiece.

“Like what you see?” Dean asks, following Castiel's footsteps. His own voice echoes off the walls like a greeting.

“It's very charming,” Cas says softly.

He tips his head up to the roof and takes a step back, until he's standing in a stream of warm sunlight cutting through the wood. It spills over his face, painting him golden, and Dean is mesmerized.

_I'm going to remember this_ , it occurs to him _._ The thought is sudden, but clear and certain. Dean knows he is going to remember this very moment for many years to come.

Castiel, oblivious to the way Dean is looking at him, smiles widely and huffs out an excited little laugh.

“I can take some really good pictures here. I can feel it,” he says, finally lowering his head to face Dean.

Castiel's enthusiasm is contagious. Dean grins at him and rubs his hands together.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

They walk back to the truck to retrieve Cas' equipment. That determined look from earlier is back on Castiel's face – his brows are drawn together, his eyes sharp and attentive. He even carries himself differently, Dean notices. His back is straight, but his shoulders, arms, his feet move nimbly and with purpose. It's fascinating to watch and Dean allows himself that small luxury when he's sure Cas can't see him.

While Castiel sets up his tripod and fiddles with one of the cameras, Dean moves to the back of the truck to open the cooler. He pulls out two beers and pops the caps off using the silver band on his finger. The ring is one of the very few possessions belonging to his mom they managed to salvage after the fire. Dean used to wear it on a silver chain around his neck when he was a kid, and when he turned eighteen he used what little money he had saved to get it expanded so that it would slide comfortably on his finger. He hasn't taken it off since.

Cas is crouching by his tripod, taking the first pictures of the bridge. Dean stands behind him, a little to the side, and hands him one of the beers without a word.

“Thank you,” Cas says when he takes it. He smiles at Dean shyly and takes a swig. Dean does the same, enjoying the coolness that spreads within him with every gulp.

“These are just practice shots,” Cas explains, turning his attention back to the bridge. “The light isn't quite right just yet, but it's good enough for trying out different angles.”

Dean nods, but stays silent, letting Castiel focus. After a couple of minutes Cas moves the tripod a little to the side, then takes a few steps back for a wider shot. He's completely in his element, fully immersed in his task, but still takes the time to let Dean know what he's doing and why. It's almost like a free photography class, Dean thinks. And he's kinda hot for the teacher.

Speaking of, the temperature has reached Satan's ass levels of hot and Dean can feel beads of sweat gathering at his hairline and running down his temples. Judging by the way Castiel's t-shirt clings to his back he's also uncomfortably warm, but he keeps working without a word of complaint.

“Hey Cas, is it totally gonna ruin your pictures if I stand on the bridge? That shade looks hella inviting.”

Cas' mouth quirks up in amusement.

“I don't think you could ruin any picture by being in it.”

Cas says it lightly, but the way he can't quite meet Dean's eyes makes it sound like an intended flirtation. Dean feels himself blush and blames it on the heat.

“You're a real flirt, you know that, Cas?” Dean gives him a little nudge when he walks past him, just to play off his own embarrassment.

It's much cooler under the roof of the bridge. Dean takes a moment to just breathe, enjoying the feeling of sweat drying on his skin. When he looks back Cas is gone, and so is his tripod. Dean takes a few steps back to the opening of the bridge to see what's going on when he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye. He can see through a crack in the wall that Cas has now made his way down the steep bank towards the stream and is trying to steady his tripod on the uneven ground at the edge of the water.

Dean moves closer to the wall, careful not to let the old wood creak under his feet. He stays still with his eye just inches from the the narrow crack, drinking in Castiel's movements. He watches as Cas pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

“Is it always this hot around here this time of year?” Cas calls out, looking up right at him. Dean all but jumps away from the wall, embarrassed to have been caught.

“Uh, yeah, it's always, uh... This hot in the summer,” he stammers, feeling warmer than he has before.

Dean walks backwards until his back hits the opposite wall and he leans against it, trying to gather his thoughts. He's not sure if it's the heat, or Castiel's presence, or some intoxicating mixture of both, but he's feeling odd, almost delirious. Perhaps coming out here was a mistake. Dean should have kept his distance from the moment he realized he was drawn to Cas, which, come to think of it, was the second he saw him stepping out of that dumb truck. Still, he should have kept this strictly professional, like he always has with his other lodgers. No evening walks, no lunches together, certainly no creeping on them through cracks in walls. Cas is just another guest at Dean's piss poor excuse of a B&B and Dean needs to keep it that way if he doesn't want to get in trouble.

He feels better now, like the few moments he has spent away from Cas have helped him clear his head. He peels himself off the wall and sneaks another peak through the same hole, but Cas is not by the stream any more. When Dean looks around he sees the tripod sitting innocuously on the other side of the bridge, the lens of the camera staring at him with its patient eye. Dean walks towards it leisurely, enjoying the stillness around him. The silence of the afternoon is interrupted only by the sound of his footsteps and the buzzing of insects in the tall grass. By the time he reaches the end of the bridge he feels relaxed and at ease, confident that he can face Cas without falling for him.

Stepping out of the shade and back into sunlight is almost blinding, which is why Dean doesn't notice Cas standing to the side with another camera pointed at him until it's too late. Cas snaps a picture and smiles triumphantly. Dean just groans.

“You always creep on people like that?” he asks, pointedly ignoring the hypocrisy of the question.

“I prefer candid shots to posed photos,” Cas says with a shrug. He then bends down to pick up something from the ground – a bouquet of wild flowers – Dean realises. “I got these for you, to thank you for taking me here,” Cas says, handing the flowers to Dean with a shy smile.

Dean can feel panic rising inside his chest like a high tide.

“Flowers?” he asks dumbly.

“I know this isn't a bottle of whiskey or whatever else is traditionally gifted to men, but I thought they would look nice in your kitchen. The flowers you have there now are starting to wilt.”

Castiel's expression is so open and sincere that Dean really can't do anything but accept the flowers, even if it makes the tips of his ears turn red and his resolve break.

“Thanks, Cas. They're perfect.”

Castiel then says that he's done for now and will try to drive back here early the next morning to capture the bridge at sunrise. They walk back to the car to pack away Cas' gear and retrieve more beers, and then Dean leads them to the old willow tree leaning protectively over the stream. It's so much cooler under the blanket of leaves and they both stretch leisurely on the grass. They don't talk much, both content to just look up at the sky in companionable silence, and it doesn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. Nothing about being around Cas feels forced, Dean muses.

Eventually they finish off their beers and Dean realizes he's getting hungry. He briefly considers taking Cas out to dinner somewhere in town, but he knows he should get home and cook something for Sam. If left to his own devices the kid would probably just make scrambled eggs and call it dinner.

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Wanna join me and Sam for dinner tonight?”

And so they're back in Cas' truck, swaying lightly with every bump they hit. The wild flowers Cas picked for him are resting in Dean's lap, and he tries not to think about them too much. They'll look pretty on his kitchen table, that's all.

Every now and then he steals a glance at Cas' face and on more than one occasion he sees Cas looking back at him. Every time it happens Dean feels just a little more light-headed.

But that sweet feeling is punched out of him when they pull up at the farm and he sees his dad's car parked next to the Impala.

John is home. And Dean has just invited Cas for dinner.

His palm is sweating when he wraps it around the flowers and he doesn't meet Cas' eyes when he assures him he's alright.

Dean squares his shoulders and makes his way towards the house.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Castiel senses a shift in Dean's demeanor as soon as they reach the farm. Dean's easy smile is replaced by a guarded expression, his shoulders tense up and the hand holding the bouquet goes white-knuckled. Castiel can't figure out the source of Dean's discomfort until he follows his gaze to the police car parked next to the Impala.

“Ah, shit,” Dean swears beside him.

“What's wrong? Why are the police here?”

“Don't worry, it's just my dad,” Dean says, although his own voice drips with uneasiness. “Must've finished his shift and decided to show up for once.”

Something in Dean's tone prompts Castiel to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Dean brushes him off and gets out of the truck without looking back. Castiel stares after him as he makes his way towards the house and only remembers to catch up just as Dean climbs up the porch and swings the door open.

The man sitting at the kitchen table is definitely Dean's father. Cas can see the resemblance in the firm set of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders and the way his fingers drum restlessly on the can of beer in his hand. But he lacks Dean's softness, the constellation of freckles across his nose and the youthful energy that buzzes under his skin. If anything, Dean's father looks tired, as if weariness never quite leaves his body, adding layers upon layers of exhaustion.

“Dad,” Dean says. “How are you?”

“Peachy, son. Never been better. Who's your friend?”

Castiel knows himself to be a good judge of character. He can also feel tension rolling off of Dean in hot waves and in a moment of clarity he understands why Dean is so uneasy. He's worried about what his father will think of Castiel. And, by the way the older Winchester isn't even looking at him, as if Cas wasn't interesting enough to warrant his attention, Dean's trepidation is justified. But Castiel has met more than a few men like Dean's father and knows exactly how to handle them.

Without missing a beat he moves towards the table to shake Mr. Winchester's hand.

“I'm Castiel Novak. Pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says, looking calmly into Winchester's eyes even as he squeezes his hand a little too tightly. “I'm renting a room here.”

“Call me John,” he says roughly, but at least he's looking at Cas with a glimmer of respect. “What brings you here, Castiel? Business or pleasure?”

“A mix of both,” Cas replies, as he sits at the table unprompted. “I've been sent here on an assignment by my editor. They want me to photograph the famous covered bridges in this county for the October issue of our magazine. They also insisted on me taking a few extra days off work, despite my protests.”

“So what, you don't think Iowa is good enough for a vacation?” John asks, and Castiel is surprised by how little it takes to get on his bad side.

“Not at all, sir,” he assures John. “I actually think that this place is perfect for the kind of vacation I enjoy. It's quiet out here, and Dean tells me he knows a good fishing spot or two. A man can't ask for more than that.”

Cas is absolutely bullshitting this conversation, but it seems to be working. John's face breaks into a smile and he clasps a hand on Castiel's shoulder in approval.

“Amen to that,” he says, almost jovially. He looks over at Dean, who's still standing in the doorway as if glued to the floor. “Son, stop gaping over there and get our guest a beer.”

Dean moves immediately, like a soldier following a command. He grabs a can for Cas and hands it to him with a grateful look, clearly relieved that Cas managed to win his father over. Castiel offers him a soft smile and is rewarded with a blush rising to Dean's cheeks.

Dean turns around then, perhaps in an effort to hide it, and busies himself with the bouquet still clutched tightly in his fist. He fills a vase with fresh water and sets on meticulously arranging the flowers. His shoulders are relaxed again, his movements fluent and well-practiced. Castiel allows himself a moment to admire the expanse of Dean's back before averting his eyes in fear of being noticed by John.

But John has his eyes set on Dean, too, like a rattle snake about to strike.

“Why do you keep bringing flowers to his house, son?” he asks, a dangerous note in his voice.

Dean's shoulders stiffen, but he doesn't abandon his task.

“I just want this place to look nice, that's all,” he says with a shrug. Castiel can tell that it's forced.

John scoffs and turns to Castiel. He leans in, as if to let him in on a secret, but his voice is loud when he speaks.

“You know, ever since his mother died Dean's been doing all kinds of girly shit. It's like he thinks he's the woman of the family now.”

Cas looks back at Dean in time to see the tips of his ears turn red. Beside him, he can hear John laughing and the sound makes Castiel's insides turn.

“I think it's admirable that Dean takes care of you and Sam,” Cas says calmly. John's laugh dies down and his eyes go dark again, but Castiel has no intention of backing down. “I know what it's like to lose a parent. But when my father died there was no one I could lean on. My brother left shortly after the funeral and my mother, well. She's never been someone I could turn for comfort to. Back then I would have given anything to have someone like Dean to look after me. You're lucky to have him, sir.”

Silence fills the kitchen like poisonous gas as both Winchesters stare at him with equally stunned expressions. Cas keeps his eyes trained on John's, determined not to be the first to look away. Eventually John pushes himself off the table and stands up, towering over Castiel. Cas, unfazed, just stares back.

“Dean, get started on dinner. I'm gonna go get Sam.”

With that, he leaves the kitchen, his heavy boots echoing down the hallway.

Cas exhales and looks up at Dean, who is still standing at the sink with a vase of flowers in his hand.

“Did I cross the line?” Cas asks.

Dean shakes his head.

“No, he's the asshole.”

“Do you need help with dinner?” Cas stands up as he asks the question and moves to the sink to wash his hands, letting Dean know that he's gonna help regardless of his answer.

“You can chop the vegetables, if you want.”

For a while it's just the two of them in the kitchen. They work together in silence and Castiel marvels at how easy it is for them to just be around one another. He's not the most sociable of people even on a good day, but something about Dean puts him at ease and invites him to open up, be himself. As he slices the vegetables and sips on his lukewarm beer he wonders what the next twelve days might bring for them.

Once the sauce and the pasta are cooked to perfection Cas helps Dean set the table, pointedly putting the vase of wild flowers in the center. Dean pretends not to see it, but the small smile on his face tells Cas that the gesture is much appreciated.

Dean sticks his head out of the kitchen and calls out to Sam and John to get their asses down here before the food gets cold. Sam nearly trips in his hurry to get to the kitchen and thanks both Dean and Cas before he even takes the first bite. John arrives after they've already started eating, but at least he mutters a court _thank you_ at Dean when he hands him another beer.

Still, conversation around the table is stilted at best and only lights up when Sam and Dean get into a heated argument over which Marvel character is the most powerful. Even John joins in, but his argument supporting the Hulk's superiority is promptly ridiculed by both brothers. Castiel is content to simply observe the Winchesters in their natural habitat and if his eyes linger on one of them, well, that's nobody's business.

And while he doesn't regret standing up to John he also understands that Dean wants the two of them to at least be civil with each other, so he decides to try to win John's approval one more time.

“Mr. Winchester, I understand that you are a police officer?”

“Yup,” John says, not even looking up from his plate of spaghetti.

Cas exchanges worried looks with Dean, but still soldiers on.

“Does it ever get dangerous in your line of work?”

“Not really.”

After that the only sounds in the kitchen are chewing noises and the slow rattle of the fan overhead. Despite the tense atmosphere the food tastes delicious and Castiel isn't at all surprised that Dean is an excellent cook. The man seems to put love and care into anything he does, from tending to his flower beds to cooking a meal for his family. As he eats Dean's food and steals glances at Dean's face Castiel thinks about how dangerously easy it would be to fall in love with him.

Once the plates are empty Sam and Dean clear the table, while Cas and John refuse to look at one another. Seemingly out of thin air Dean produces a pie and whipped cream, which is almost too much for Cas, but he eats it anyway. The pie is store-bought and Dean spends way too long apologizing for it and assuring Castiel that he usually bakes his own pies and that they are infinitely better than this “manufactured crap”.

“So Cas, why did you become a photographer?” Sam asks around a mouthful of apple filling. He's looking at him expectantly, like he genuinely wants to know the answer. Out of the corner of his eye Cas can see Dean watching him intently, too, and that's what gives him the final push to give an honest answer.

“My dad was a journalist,” he says. “He used to travel a lot for work, visiting faraway places and writing about them. Eventually he learned enough about photography to take his own pictures, too. He was a freelancer for a lot of the time, so we mostly lived off my mother's inheritance. But I still admired what he did, even if I never thought about doing it myself.”

He pauses then, twirling his half-full can of beer aimlessly and thinking about his father's gentle face.

“He died on his way back from New Zealand. The plane crashed into the ocean, so we never even saw his body. I was still a kid.”

Even John is looking at him now, but Castiel doesn't want his sympathy.

“My mother and I didn't have the best relationship back then and I guess I hoped that the grief would bring us together. When that didn't happen I decided to follow my father's footsteps to make her proud.”

“Did it work?” Dean interrupts, his expression soft and hopeful.

Castiel shakes his head and smiles ruefully.

“It didn't. We haven't spoken in years. As far as I know she doesn't want to have anything to do with me.”

“I'm sorry.” Sam reaches out to pat his hand, but the gesture is spoiled by John's uncaring words.

“What kind of a mother doesn't love her kid?”

“Dad!” Dean's voice cuts sharply through the stunned silence. It's the first time he has objected to his dad and Castiel can see the flash of surprise and anger in John's face.

“I'm just saying, if his own mother wants nothing to do with him then there must something wrong with him.” John says, his own voice dripping with unquestionable authority. He turns to face Cas and the look in his eyes makes Castiel brace himself for whatever comes next. “You gay or something?”

Before Cas can process John's words Dean stands up straight and the impact of his movement sends his chair falling to the floor.

“Don't answer that, Cas,” he says calmly, though his hands are shaking.

“He should answer that, son.” There's a dangerous note in John's voice and for the first time since meeting him, Castiel is scared. “I have the right to know if I got a fag under my roof.”

Dean's face goes pale, then bright red, like he's just been slapped. Sam reaches up to place a placating hand on his father's shoulder but John swats his hand away as if it was an insect crawling up his arm. Castiel feels like shit, but it's nothing new. He has heard those exact words, and many worse, from a lot of people, including his own mother. It never hurts any less, but at least he has learned not to show it.

He puts his fork down, wipes his mouth with a napkin and pushes himself off the table.

“Dean, thank you for the delicious dinner. Sam, I have greatly enjoyed your delightful company. I wish you both good night.”

And with that he leaves the house. 

* * * * * 

In the safety of the Barn Castiel is finally able to breathe freely. The walk through the darkening garden has somewhat eased his anger and now he just feels sad and defeated. He collapses on the sofa, too exhausted to climb up the stairs to the mezzanine where his bed is, and wills his mind to go quiet.

He has experienced his fair share of bigotry when he still lived in his home town. He came out in the sophomore year and his life was pretty much a shit fest until he went to college, which was incidentally the last time he had seen his mother.

But now, twelve years later, things are different. Now he knows what it's like to be accepted and loved for who he is. He has had relationships with men and felt no shame or fear when he held their hands or kissed them goodbye on a crowded street. His brother and his closest friends know the truth about him and love him all the same. He still encounters bigoted assholes and it hurts just as much every time, but overall he has managed to build himself a perfect little bubble. To have it pierced so suddenly feels like a punch to the gut.

Castiel's thoughts drift to Dean and hover over him protectively. He can't know for sure whether Dean is like him, but something in the way Dean looks at him whispers to him that they might be kindred spirits. Knowing exactly was it feels like to not be accepted by your own parent makes his heart ache for Dean and he wishes Dean could have an easier life.

He drifts off eventually and only wakes up when he hears a knock on the door. By then the sun has set and dusk has seeped into the room through the open window. Castiel's hand grazes the wall until he finds a light switch and he squints in the sudden brightness.

On the other side of the door is Dean, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and a sad smile on his face.

“Mind if I come in?”

Castiel steps aside and lets Dean brush against him on his way in. Dean goes straight to the kitchen and pulls out two whiskey glasses from a cupboard over the sink. Wordlessly, he pours them both a drink and hands one to Castiel.

“I'm so fucking sorry about my asshole dad,” he says with a pained expression. “He was so far out of line he basically entered another dimension. He had no right, no fucking right to say what he said and I-”

“Dean, it's okay. It's not your fault,” Cas assures him.

“It kind of is though, isn't it? I'm the one who put you in that position. I should have known my dad would be a dick. He's never liked any of my friends.”

Dean's staring stubbornly into his glass, like the liquid there might somehow turn back time and un-fuck this entire evening. Castiel gently knocks his glass against Dean's and says,

“To shitty parents, then. May we find a way to not care what they think of us.”

Dean finally looks up at him and Cas sees a glint of mischief in his forest-green eyes. They down their whiskey in one go, feeling better for it. Castiel still feels the burn in his throat when Dean pours him another one.

“Listen, if you don't feel comfortable staying here, I get it,” Dean says. “My friend Ellen runs a roadhouse and she usually has some vacancies in her rooms. I can get you a sweet deal and help you pack.”

“What are you talking about?” Cas can feel panic rising in his chest. “Do you want me gone? Is your father gonna-”

The vigorous shake of Dean's head stops Cas in his tracks.

“I want you to stay here, Cas, believe me. But I know how much it must suck for you. I don't want you to be uncomfortable around my dad, so if you want to leave, I'll understand.”

Castiel searches Dean's eyes and weights his options. It's true that he'd rather never see John Winchester's face again. But that also means not being around Dean and he doesn't have it in him to deny himself that.

“I'd rather stay, if that's alright.”

Dean's entire face lights up then and he raises his glass in a mock toast.

“I'll drink to that.”

The rest of the evening goes by in a haze. Castiel is too intoxicated by the alcohol and the sound of Dean's laughter to pay attention to anything but Dean's voice as he tells him stories from his life, one more ridiculous than the other. At some point Castiel becomes vaguely aware that they're leaning dangerously close to each other, Dean's shining eyes luring him closer still, but he's too helpless to resist. He thinks about what it would be like to kiss Dean; if he would pull back, disgusted, or kiss him back hungrily and with no regret.

But Castiel is a strategist at heart and knows that this thing between them, if it really exists and isn't just a desperate fever dream, must be approached with patience and care. More than that, Castiel can see how luminous Dean is, how his personality and the love he carries shine through in his every word, every gesture, every move of his muscles. He is soft, and warm, and strong, and Castiel would be a fool to rush things, to skip to the end without savoring every word of the story. He wants to get to know Dean and for Dean to know him too. And if he only has two weeks to fulfill that, so be it. He will take his time and see where the tide carries them both.

It's well after midnight when Dean decides it's time to go home. He looks a bit sheepish as he hovers in the doorway, his eyelashes casting lovely shadows on his freckled cheeks.

“Thank you for coming here, Dean,” Cas says sincerely. “I had a really great evening.”

Dean scoffs.

“No, you didn't. The evening was a disaster.”

“At first, yes. But we've managed to turn it around.”

“I'm glad you think that,” Dean says with a smile. “Well, I guess I should get going now.”

But he doesn't move.

Warm breeze wafts in through the open door like a summer's whisper, carrying with it the evening scent of lilac and honeysuckle. Dean hesitates at the door, a question stuck in his throat, until he finally relents and lets the words spill out of his mouth.

“Is it true, though? What my dad said?”

Castiel frowns, unsure of what Dean means at first. When realization dawns at him his heart picks up the pace, but whether it's trying to run away from the question or towards the possibilities it may open, Cas isn't sure.

“Are you asking if I'm really gay?”

Dean nods, once. His eyes never leave Castiel's.

“I am,” Cas says simply.

In the moment of silence that follows Castiel thinks he can see Dean's shoulders sag with relief, ever so gently.

“I'm glad you're here, man,” Dean says at last. “Good night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Castiel watches Dean's retreating silhouette in the pool of light spilling through the open door until Dean wanders too far away from him and disappears into the night.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sunday morning is stifling and humid. Dean can feel himself sweating even when he's just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

Last night plays out in his mind's eye scene by scene, detail by detail. He now knows for sure that Castiel likes men and the simple fact awakens hope in Dean, a feeling stronger than the fear of his father's reaction was he ever to find out that Dean and Cas have that in common.

If Cas is like him, then maybe something could happen between them. Dean thinks he would like that a lot.

And what makes things easier, Dean muses, is that Cas is here just for two weeks. Well, twelve days now. After that he will be gone and Dean will be able to go back to being mostly straight – no harm done, no hearts broken, no sons disowned.

That's what he keeps telling himself as he showers, or gets dressed, or drinks his morning coffee. He prepares breakfast for Sam and avoids John, and since he has perfected both of those things over the years his morning goes by easily and pleasantly.

The only thing on the agenda is a town meeting Dean needs to attend. Planning the summer party is no easy task, especially when the event is just a month away. Dean's binder (yeah, he has a binder, so what?) is full to the brim with ideas, cost analyses and notes from previous meetings. He'd never admit it to anyone, but party planning is kind of his jam.

Dean eats his breakfast on the porch and looks out at the Barn, so still and quiet in the early morning. He wonders if Cas is still asleep, or if he's nursing his hangover with a cup of coffee like Dean is. Inevitably his thoughts turn to Castiel's striking blue eyes and the intensity behind them when he pointed his camera at Roseman Bridge for the first time, like a man who knows exactly how he wants his pictures to turn out. He had that same intensity about him when he stood up to Dean's dad and Dean would be lying if he said his heart doesn't skip a beat every time he thinks about it.

But Castiel can be gentle too, and it's that gentleness and understanding that Dean craves to be given, more than anything else.

Perhaps Cas being here for just two weeks is not a blessing after all. Perhaps, if Dean's not careful, he will be pulled head first into something he will not be able to come back from.

At eleven he knocks on Castiel's door, then knocks again when there's no answer. When Castiel finally appears in the doorway his hair is tousled and he's only wearing a tank top and boxer shorts. Dean gets distracted for a brief moment before mentally kicking himself and regaining his composure.

“Dude, were you still asleep?”

“Yes, I was. Now I'm awake and it's your fault. What do you want?”

“Wow, you always so grumpy in the morning?” Dean says, pushing past Cas and into the kitchen. This time he doesn't pour him any liquor, but starts the coffee maker instead.

“The question is, why are you so fucking chipper?”

“Language, Cas!” Dean exclaims in mock indignation.

Castiel just rolls his eyes.

“Dean, I'm hangover like hell all because of you,” he grumbles as he slides on the stool in the kitchen.

“Yes, and I accept full responsibility,” Dean assures him. “Which is why I'm taking you out for breakfast slash lunch.”

“So, brunch?”

Dean turns around with a stern expression on his face and points a finger at Cas' face.

“In this house we do not use made up words like _brunch_ , capiche?”

“All words are made up.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. Cream and sugar?”

“Yes, in copious amounts please.”

Twenty minutes later they're sitting in the Impala. The windows are rolled down and Dean's favorite cassette is in the player. Cas is a bit more lively and less homicidal after a cup of coffee and a cold shower. Occasionally he comments on the fields and farms they pass on their way into town, but for the most part they're both content to enjoy the drive in silence.

Dean takes Cas to a pleasant little café because he's fancy like that. And maybe because he hopes to impress Cas, just a little. Castiel, on his part, only fully wakes up when a lovely waitress called Dorothy places a plate of pancakes in front of him. Dean, having already had breakfast, orders himself a burrito and a stack of fries.

Neither one of them mentions anything about last night, so instead Dean tells Cas about the summer party.

“It happens every year in the first week of September,” he explains. “It's a long lasting tradition. Jody says it started in the fifties and she's probably right. No one knows this town better than her.”

“Is she a friend of yours?” Cas asks, innocently enough.

“More like a surrogate mother, but yeah,” Dean says with a shrug. “She's a sheriff, so she's also my dad's boss. Lord knows how she puts up with him.”

Eager to move on from the subject of his father, Dean goes on.

“Anyway, people come down here from all over the place for the party. Families with kids, bored teenagers, old people, couples... It's a big deal. I mean, I don't know if you've noticed but this town doesn't have much going for it, so the party is that one big thing we all work towards.”

Castiel smiles wistfully.

“It's a shame I won't be here to see it.”

Dean falters, taken aback by the reminder that their time together is indeed running out with every passing minute.

“You could always stop by again,” he says, struggling to conceal the hopefulness in his voice.

Castiel's smile grows.

“Perhaps,” he says.

After their breakfast slash lunch Castiel eagerly agrees to tag along with Dean to the meeting. Dean declares that it's too damn hot to walk all the way to the town hall, even if it's just a few blocks away. And when they park the Impala at the back of the building his mood goes from good to even better.

Parked next to the sheriff's car is a yellow beetle, looking as cheerful as his owner always is.

“No way,” Dean says excitedly. “Charlie's here!”

“Who's Charlie?”

“She's my best friend,” Dean is already opening his door, eager to get inside the town hall and find Charlie. “Kinda like a little sister I never wanted, you know?”

“And you haven't seen her in a while?” Cas guesses, following closely behind.

“Nope. She's still in college, a few states over. We only hang out when she's back here on her breaks. Me and Sam actually drove over to her a couple of times, but we can't always leave whenever we want to, so we just end up waiting for her to get back.”

There's already several people milling about in the main hall, but Dean has no problem spotting Charlie. Her bright red hair and a bouncy step make her stand out in any crowd.

“Your majesty,” Dean says as soon as he gets within an earshot of his friend.

Charlie whips her head around and squeaks in joy.

“Dean!” she calls out, and before Dean knows it, he has an armful of a redhead weighting him down. He spins her around for good measure and the two of them part with a laugh.

“When did you get here?”

“Just this morning!” Charlie says, breathless from excitement. “I literally just dropped my things off at Ellen's and drove straight here. I don't trust you guys to get plan this party properly without me.”

“We've been doing it for weeks, Bradbury. Feel free to turn back and get outta here.”

Charlie swats at Dean's arm playfully and finally notices Cas hovering behind him.

“Aren't you going to introduce me?”

“This is Cas, he's staying at the Barn. Cas, this is Charlie, my annoying best friend.”

Much to Dean's surprise Cas and Charlie get on like a house on fire. They bond over their favorite obscure director Dean's never even heard of (but is totally gonna google now) and the fact that they both think Dean's a lovable goof. Well, those were Charlie's words, but Cas didn't correct her, so Dean's gonna go with it for now.

Once the meeting starts Dean shushes them both and whips out his binder to take notes. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Cas looking over at him and holding back a smile.

“What?” Dean asks defensively.

“I didn't say anything,” Cas replies, a picture of innocence.

“Yeah, right. Laugh all you want, I'm serious about this business.”

“So I see.”

There's a glint of playful confidence in Castiel's eyes and Dean feels the tips of his ears burn.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

After the meeting Charlie suggests they should all go out in the evening for a few drinks at Ellen's bar.

“We should get the old gang back together,” she says, as they walk out of the town hall and on to the sun-bathed parking lot. “I'm talking you, me, Benny, Jo, Sam... And Cas, you should come too.”

“Oh, I don't want to intrude on your time together with your friends. I understand you haven't seen each other in months, I'm sure you have a lot to talk about”.

“Nonsense!” comes Charlie's emphatic reply. Her tone of voice suggests that any counter arguments will be simply ignored. “Dean, tell him.”

Dean, who's been watching the exchange with a great deal of amusement, spreads his arms in a helpless gesture.

“I don't know what to tell you, Cas. You're coming along and that's final.”

Secretly, he's glad that Charlie was the first one to suggest it. He would have wanted Cas to keep them company anyway, but at least this way he's not coming across as desperate.

They part ways soon after. Dean and Cas wave at Charlie as she pulls out of the parking lot and she beeps at them in a cheerful goodbye. Dean misses her already.

They still have a few hours to kill before meeting up at Ellen's, so Dean suggests going for a drive. Taking his Baby out on the open road is his happy place and he wants to share that with Cas. He doesn't have a destination in mind, but Castiel isn't bothered, seemingly happy to let Dean whisk him away wherever he pleases.

They drive for an hour through winding country lanes, enjoying the way the wind ruffles their hair through the rolled down windows. This time Dean doesn't put the music on in a silent invitation for Castiel to talk to him. Cas seems to understand the intention and talks for most of the drive. Dean listens intently to Castiel's stories about his work, his editor Tessa who over the years has become one of his closest friends, and a guy called Zachariah who was a homophobic dick and tried to get Cas fired.

It's the first time Dean's heard Cas talk so freely and for so long, and he wonders if it's because Cas feels more comfortable around him now. He's clearly the kind of person who takes a while to fully open up to people and Dean wonders how he could encourage Cas to show him more of his true self.

Eventually they stop for lunch in the nearest town. They have a burger each and Cas declares that while delicious, they are nowhere near as good as Benny's.

While they eat Dean marvels at just how easy it is to be in Castiel's company. He can see himself taking Cas out every weekend, driving together to a random town, getting something to eat, maybe catching a movie and a few drinks before making their way back home. In those scenarios Dean gets to kiss Cas goodnight, maybe even to go home with him.

But that's not on the table for them, at least not long-term, so instead Dean settles on getting them both chocolate milkshakes before getting back in the car and driving them home.

* * * * *

Ellen's bar is mostly empty, which isn't unusual for a Sunday evening. She greets Dean and Sam with a hug and a good-natured smack on the back of their heads for not visiting more often. When Cas introduces himself she seems immediately taken with his polite demeanor and offers them all a round on the house (diet coke for Sammy, of course).

Jo abandons her post behind the bar to join them and Charlie arrives soon after with Benny in tow. Now it's a fucking party, Dean thinks.

He's missed this. Even though Jo and Benny both live just a few minutes away from him Dean doesn't see them as often as he'd like. If he's not working at the garage he's hanging out with Sam or taking care of the house and the garden. Those things come first and there's hardly ever a good enough reason to just abandon his responsibilities and have pure, selfish fun.

But he tries not to think about that now and just relaxes into the evening. He introduces Cas to Jo, who's the only one from the bunch that hasn't met him yet, and watches in horror as she fires personal questions at Cas, one more nosey than the other.

“Jo, for the love of God, let the poor guy live,” Dean says eventually, just as Cas is about to confess whether he's ever committed a felony.

“Dean, darling, I'm just looking out for you,” she says sweetly. “You've made a new friend, which is genuinely shocking. I just want to make sure that Cas is good enough for you.”

“Oh. My God,” Dean groans, wiping a hand down his face. “You need to shut up, Harvelle.”

“You shouldn't speak like that to your friend, Dean,” Cas chides him with a serious face. “She clearly has your best interest in mind. If anything, you should thank her for being so caring.”

“Are you serious?” Dean asks incredulously, just as Jo bursts out laughing. “You're fucking with me, right?”

Cas laughs too, low and rumbling. Dean gets a little lost in the way Cas' eyes crinkle happily and doesn't realise that he's staring until Sam clears his throat pointedly. He looks away, embarrassed, and hopes to God that no one else noticed. He's pretty sure that Jo and Benny both suspect he might not be entirely straight, but he's never discussed it with them openly and would prefer to keep it that way. He just needs to keep his distance from Cas for the rest of the evening and not stare at him longingly. Easy peasy.

After Castiel's interrogation is over they all fall into their usual routine of catching up and exchanging embarrassing stories from when they were just a bunch of dumb kids with too much time on their hands. As expected, Dean's asshole friends basically trip over themselves to tell Cas all about his greatest hits, from his failed attempt at a fumble in the hay with Jenny Dalton that ended with him falling face-first into cow shit, to that time in senior year when he lost a bet and had to wear a dress to school for a week. Dean doesn't fight it though, because every story elicits another pearl of laughter from Castiel and he finds himself becoming addicted to the sound of it.

Their glasses soon become empty and Dean gets up to get them all another round. Charlie offers to help him out and he falls for it like an idiot. Of course Charlie isn't being helpful at all, she's just being a little shit. As soon as Ellen turns her back on them to work on their order Charlie leans in and says,

“So. Cas?”

Dean's fingers still where they've been drumming on the bar top.

“What about him?”

“Come on, Dean. You know what I'm talking about.”

“I really don't,” Dean says, perhaps a little too forcefully. But Charlie doesn't even flinch, just leans in a little closer and puts her hand on his wrist in a calming gesture.

“You like him, right? C'mon you can tell me,” she's looking up at him with a hopeful expression in her big green eyes, like a kitten waiting for a treat. She knows damn well that Dean's helpless against that tactic. He sighs, defeated.

“It's not that simple,” he says.

Charlie all but beams at him.

“Ha! I knew something was up. You two have been eye-fucking each other since we got here.”

“Charlie.”

“Come to think of it there was a lot of intense eye contact at the meeting too, I should have known straight away – heh, straight – but I just wasn't sure and-”

“Charlie, stop. I told you, it's not that simple.”

“Well, why not?” she asks.

Dean sighs. He knows he's not getting out of this one, so he might as well be honest. He looks over his shoulder, but Cas is immersed in a conversation with the rest of the gang, and the other few patrons are out of the earshot. Even Ellen has gone to the back to change a keg, so he knows he can say whatever he wants without worrying about being overheard.

“Because,” Dean says, but no other words come out. He gathers his thoughts and tries again. “Because, in case you haven't noticed, Cas is a dude.”

Charlie huffs in exasperation, but Dean ignores her.

“And I know that you're out of the closet and loving the gay life, but I'm not, and never will be. So trying anything with Cas is out of the question.”

“Right,” she says, unconvinced. “Which is why you invited him to go to a boring town meeting with you and brought him here to meet your friends.”

“Technically, you were the one who invited him here” Dean points out, just for the sake of it.

“Right,” Charlie says again, “and if I hadn't you would have just come here with Sam and not thought about Cas at all?”

Dean doesn't say anything to that and Charlie accepts her victory with grace.

“Cas being a guy clearly isn't the main problem here, then. So what's stopping you?”

Dean can feel a headache forming just behind his eyes. He's not used to airing his deepest feelings like dirty laundry, but he also knows that if he doesn't talk to someone about it, he might spontaneously combust from the sheer pressure of carrying those feelings in his chest.

“He's only here for less than two weeks,” he blurts out.

Charlie nods gently, prompting him to go on.

“So what's the point of getting involved, you know? Even if something happens, he's gonna fuck off back to Chicago in a few days and I'm gonna be left here alone like a dumbass. No thank you.”

He knows he sounds petulant and hates himself for it. The only thing that makes him feel a little better is Charlie's comforting presence at his side. He knows she would never judge him, it's just not her style.

“So you don't want to get involved with Cas, but you also can't stay away from him.”

“I like his company,” Dean says simply.

“You could try long distance...”

“Charlie.”

“...and eventually you could move to Chicago, you know how I always say this place is not good enough for you. Or maybe-”

“Charlie, enough. I'm serious. Now you're just being delusional.”

The conversation has soured his mood and he wants it over and done with.

Charlie seems to sense that, so she doesn't say anything else, just smiles at him sadly and pats his cheek.

When they come back to their booth with a tray of drinks the conversation around the table has somewhat fizzled, which Charlie takes full advantage of.

“Hey, Cas,” she says as she slides on the bench next to Benny. “Have I told you yet why I started college at 23?”

Dean has a sinking feeling that he knows exactly where she's going with this. He glares at her across the table but she ignores him, focusing her attention solely on Cas.

“After high school I didn't really know what to do with myself,” she says, twirling a straw in her raspberry mojito. “I thought about going to college, but didn't really have the money or the guts, so I stayed here. And it was okay at first, but after a while I started to feel kinda claustrophobic, you know? This place is just too small for me. Everyone knows everyone, nothing ever happens, and there are, like, zero lesbians besides yours truly.”

“Yes, I know the feeling,” Cas admits. “The town where I grew up was exactly like that, too”.

“So you left, right?” Charlie asks, glad that he understands.

“And never looked back.”

“And I bet you're happier for it,” Charlie says, giving Dean a pointed look.

“Very much so, yes.”

“See, I think that my wonderful friends should try that too. I know that Jo and Benny are a lost cause and their roots run too deep into the Iowan soil, but Dean could still be saved. He just needs a little convincing and I'm running out of arguments.”

“I'm not sure how I can be of help,” Cas says carefully, perhaps sensing a set up.

“Well,” Charlie starts, but is interrupted by Benny.

“Charlie, darlin', you're breaking my heart. Ain't nothing wrong with growing old right where you were born.”

“Exactly, thank you!” Dean agrees.

“Technically, we weren't born here,” Sam points out, the little know-it-all. “And I agree with Charlie. I've been telling Dean to leave this place for months now, but he won't listen.”

“Oh yeah? Well, riddle me this, genius – if I'm gone, who's gonna take care of you?”

“Me, Dean,” Sam says, exasperated. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, right.”

“He has a point, Dean-o,” Jo says softly. “He'll be packing for college before you know it. He's not a little kid anymore. Besides, he wouldn't be alone, he'd still have your dad. The world wouldn't crumble if you decided to leave.”

The mere thought of leaving Sam alone with John makes Dean's skin crawl. He's annoyed with Charlie for bringing this up and with everyone else for siding with her.

The only person he's not annoyed with is Cas, but he doesn't care to examine why.

Speaking of Cas, he's looking at Dean with curious eyes, squinting ever so slightly.

“How come you never went to college?” he asks.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean can see his friends freeze. If Castiel notices the thickening tension, he doesn't show it.

Dean figures he might as well just answer the question and have it over with.

“Never really felt like it.”

That's a lie, and all but one person at the table know it. Dean wanted to go to college, worked hard to get there, and even had a sweet scholarship lined up. But in the end, he couldn't do it. Sammy was only ten, for God's sake. And John was never home. Dean can be selfish sometimes, but never like that.

“Okay, this conversation is over,” he says, knowing full well that he's being an asshole. “Benny, I haven't kicked your ass at pool in a while, you up for it?”

Aside from driving and fishing, nothing quite clears his head like playing pool. It takes a few shots of tequila and a spectacular victory over Benny for his mood to lift, but when it does, Dean's feeling fresh and buoyant, and dangerously brave.

“Hey, Cas. You ever played pool?”

Cas looks like he's had quite a few drinks himself. His hair is even more wild than usual, his cheeks rosy, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. The hollow of his throat glistens with sweat.

“Yes, a long time ago. I might be out of practice now.”

“Don't worry, I'll be gentle with you”.

Dean decides to go over the basics with Cas, just in case he has forgotten how to play and because Dean is just nice like that. It has absolutely nothing to do with his desire to get close to Cas under the guise of showing him how to play.

“Alright, now show me how you'd usually hold the cue.”

Cas complies. He places his hands on the cue, one gripping the bulky end of it, the other acting as support for the tip. Not bad for a newbie, but still too awkward to yield any results. Cas looks back at him questioningly and Dean shakes his head.

“No, that won't do. Here, let me show you”.

He casts a glance over his shoulder to check if they are being watched, but his friends aren't paying them any attention and the other patrons have their eyes glued to the screen, focused on a game. Relieved and emboldened, he steps behind Cas, a little closer than strictly necessary, and touches his elbow to maneuver it gently into the right position.

“Hold it there,” he instructs in a quiet voice, leaning in close to Cas' ear.

Cas moves his head just a little, enough to lock eyes with Dean, but doesn't say anything. They hold each other's gaze for just a moment before Dean brings himself out of it and moves to Cas' other side. He touches Cas' hand where it's placed flat on the pool table and lifts it slightly so that it's leaning on the tips of his fingers.

“Don't spread your fingers, keep them close together,” he says, squeezing them just so. “And bend the tip of your thumb to the right, just a little”.

Cas does as he's told and Dean beams at him in approval.

“That's it, you got it. Now try it out.”

Cas gives it a few practice strikes, but his cue keeps missing the balls. With each strike he's becoming more and more frustrated and the confused frown on his face makes Dean laugh. Cas sends a death glare his way, which only makes Dean laugh harder.

“Are you quite done?” Cas growls, as intimidating as a newborn puppy. “I don't know why you find this so funny. If anything this just proves that you're a terrible teacher.”

“Sorry, sorry, I'll stop now,” Dean promises, even though his face is still split in half by a shit-eating grin. “You just need to adjust your position, that's all. Here, let me show you.”

He moves behind Cas again, close enough that he can smell the mix of sweat and cologne lingering on Castiel's skin. The scent makes Dean's head spin and he knows that there is no turning back now. Before they can get to the game of pool, there is another game they must play, one that Dean intends to win.

He places his hands on Castiel's hips and instructs him to bend over. Cas hesitates for just a fracture of a second before complying. He shifts his hips so that they're nearly making contact with Dean's junk and okay, this is too much. Dean can feel his face heating up and his heart rate spiking, but he refuses to back down now. Whether Cas did it accidentally or on purpose to fuck with him, Dean is about to give as good as he gets.

“Spread your legs,” he says lowly before putting his own foot between Cas' and pushing them apart.

His thigh is now pressing ever so slightly on Castiel's ass, his hands still gripping Cas' hips. _This is obscene_ , he thinks to himself, but can't bring himself to care. He knows he has not yet crossed the line because Cas doesn't shy away from his touch, doesn't pull back in anger or disgust. Instead, he leans into it, driving Dean wild.

“Is that good?” Cas asks in a low rumble, his voice barely audible over the music playing out of the jukebox.

“Yeah, that's... that's perfect”. Dean's mouth suddenly feels dry and he breaks away from Castiel to take a generous swing of his beer.

“Let's play.”

Cas gets the first strike, because Dean is a gentleman and because he needs a moment to compose himself. Cas hits the first ball right in the middle and watches as it rolls into the side pocket, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Beginner's luck,” Dean comments, not unkindly.

But beginner's luck can only last that long. By the time Cas executes the third strike perfectly Dean realises that he's been fooled.

“You...?” he asks dumbly.

Cas offers him a winning smile and shrugs.

“So you know how to play,” Dean says weakly, feeling like a goddamn idiot.

“My ex loved playing pool, I just picked up a few tricks from him. Now I only play with Gabriel when I visit him in Las Vegas. I always lose, of course, but it's good practice.”

Dean stares at him, mouth gaping.

“So why...?”

Cas shrugs again, a devious little smile playing on his lips.

“I was curious to see what teaching methods you would implement. I have to say, I was not disappointed.”

Dean can feel heat rising to his face, painting it bright red. Cas has played him like a fiddle and Dean has let him, clouded by the all-powerful desire to get his hands on Cas, to get close to him. Shame hits him like a hot wave and he wishes for the earth to swallow him whole.

It's clear though that it was not Castiel's intention to humiliate him. Cas' expression turns from triumphant to something softer, more intimate.

“Shall we continue?” he asks. Then, without waiting for a reaction from Dean, he bends over the table, his denim-cladded ass in full view, and strikes again, this time missing the ball. He's probably done it on purpose, but Dean doesn't care. He's eager to take his turn in the game to regain some of his dignity, however little he can muster.

At the end Dean wins, though not by much and with a sneaking suspicion that Cas has let him. Surprisingly, it doesn't bother him. After the initial humiliation had somewhat faded Dean found himself enjoying the game and the friendly competition he and Cas fell into.

So much so that he doesn't even notice how late it is until Sam appears at the table, just after Dean's celebratory round of shots, to say he's getting tired and is gonna head home. Big brother instincts kicking in, Dean decides that it's time to call it a night and walk back home with Sam and Cas, despite Ellen's offer to order them a cab. The rest of the gang decides to stay for another drink, so they say their goodbyes and walk out of the bar and into the sweet summer night.

“I can't remember the last time I had this much fun,” Dean confesses to Cas, quietly enough that his brother wouldn't hear. Sam is walking a few paces ahead of them, his lanky form moving swiftly against the darkening sky. When did he get this tall?

“Me too,” Cas admits, his face radiant in the glow of a street lamp.

Dean looks back at the day they've had together and thinks about how much it felt like a date, and how much more he has enjoyed it than any other real date he has ever been on.

Perhaps Charlie was right. Perhaps this thing between him and Cas is worth a try.

Dean breathes in the warm night air and lets himself be bold.

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

By the time Castiel wakes up the next morning, groggy and a little hangover again, Dean's car is already gone. He guesses that Dean has gone to work and wonders how someone who has drunk more than him the night before could have rolled out of bed so damn early.

He checks his phone and sees an email from his editor, Tessa, asking him about how the assignment is going and whether he's getting any rest. There's also an email from Gabriel with an attachment Castiel doesn't dare to click on and a text from Dean. The last message makes Castiel smile stupidly, even though it really isn't anything special.

**Dean, 8:38am**

_morning sunshine. I'm off to work but maybe we could go visit another bridge when I get back? Y/N?_

Cas replies straight away to say that he's looking forward to it and to wish Dean a good day at work. When there's no immediate reply he begrudgingly decides to get out of bed and start his day. After a cold shower and a hearty breakfast he feels a little better and makes plans to go back to Roseman Bridge. He has missed the sunrise by a good few hours and shooting in the harsh midday sun is never ideal, but he could at least check out the surroundings a little more thoroughly than the last time he was there. With Dean watching his every move it was hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

Roseman Bridge is as lovely as Cas remembers. He spends two hours there familiarising himself with the old wooden construction and the wild, unkempt surroundings. He hopes to photograph each of the five bridges in a unique way to bring out their individual charms, or at the very least to make the series as varied and interesting as possible. In a way, it's a hell of a challenge.

Once he gets too hungry to focus on his job he drives back to town to Benny's burger joint. The owner greets him jovially and treats him to a burger and a mountain of fries on the house, so Cas makes sure to leave a generous tip. Munching on his food, he looks out the window of the dinner on the street and the shops and the locals going around their daily business. It's a charming town, but Cas wouldn't wish to stay here for too long. He thinks back to what Charlie said last night, about how claustrophobic the town can feel and how Dean would be much happier some-place else. Cas wonders briefly if that place could be Chicago, then belittles himself for conjuring up such a hopeless thought.

Back at the Barn Cas opens up his laptop to look through all of the pictures he has taken so far. The photos from the first evening at Roseman bridge turned out gorgeous and Castiel attaches them to an email to Tessa to hear her opinion. As he clicks through them he reaches the one picture he took of Dean and pauses, transfixed.

Dean is standing at the mouth of the bridge, his face tilted up towards the sun and painted golden. His black-and-red plaid shirt is the same color as the poppies scattered around in the grass, and his heavy boots are covered in dust, as if he was born of the very soil he is standing on. He looks stunning, like a pagan god of sunlight, and Castiel's heart fills up with adoration for him, tainted as it may be with the knowledge that this wonderful man is out of his reach.

Cas moves the photo to his private folder for safekeeping and busies himself with work.

* * * * *

At half past five Cas hears the faint rumble of the Impala's engine and waits patiently for Dean to knock at his door. It doesn't happen until almost an hour later when Dean shows up freshly showered and with a picnic basket in his hand.

“Shall we?”

They drive to another covered bridge, two miles west. Woodpecker's Bridge stands just on the edge of a forest and is much smaller than Cas expected. It was clearly built for people who wished to cross the stream on foot and wander into the woods. Dean explains that hardly anyone uses it anymore and the desolation shows in the rotten planks of the bridge, slippery with moss.

“It's kinda ugly, isn't it?” Dean says, eyeing the bridge critically. “But I figured you might be able to take some cool pictures here, all spooky and creepy.”

Castiel couldn't agree more. This is exactly what he wanted out of the assignment, variety and individualism of the bridges.

He sets to work, glad for the cool breeze coming from the forest. It makes it easier to concentrate in the sun, still relentless despite its impending bedtime. Dean hovers nearby, tactfully out of the way. Cas can still feel his eyes following his every move and feels hot under his collar under the scrutiny.

“Tell me about your day,” he says to Dean while adjusting his tripod.

Dean blinks in surprise and Castiel gets the impression that he is not used to people having genuine interest in what his day has been like. John Winchester doesn't seem the type of parent who cares much about his kids' lives as long as they do as they're told and Sam, well. He's a good kid and Cas can tell that he looks up to Dean a lot, but it's hard to imagine that he's interested in Dean's work at the garage enough to ask him about it.

Castiel, on the other hand, wants to know as much about Dean as the man is willing to share.

“My day was good,” Dean says, still uncertain that this is really what Cas wants to hear. “Too hot if you ask me, but Bobby had the AC going on full blast so it wasn't too bad. The car I'm working on is a goddamn mess though, it'll take at least another day to bring it back to life.”

“Do you like what you do?”

Dean hesitates for just a moment, then replies with a shrug.

“I like it well enough. Besides, it's a steady job. There will always be cars and they'll always need fixin'.”

“So you see yourself working there for a long time? Like this is something you could potentially do for life?”

Cas searches Dean's face for a sign of annoyance at the questions, but Dean seems more than willing to satisfy Castiel's curiosity. He chews on his bottom lip as if considering his next move, then finally confesses.

“I wouldn't mind fixing cars for a living, but it's not what I really want to do."

“What is it then?”

“You're gonna say it's stupid.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Okay, well. What do you think of the Barn? Are you enjoying your stay?”

Cas frowns and the seemingly sudden change in conversation, but answers truthfully.

“Yes, I am. I like what you've done with the place. It's comfortable, but also very charming. I think it has a lot of character.”

“And what do you think of the food I stock in the kitchen?”

“It's a nice touch. I haven't had to go grocery shopping since I got here.”

Dean nods, pleased with Cas' answer.

“So would you say that I'm good at running the business? At, like, making people enjoy their stay at the farm? 'Cause that's kinda what I wanna do for real,” he admits. “At first it was just a way of making a few extra bucks, but I kinda got sucked into it. And I'm thinking, if I could save enough money to buy my own place, I could turn it into a proper B&B, you know? Have a few guest rooms, a big dining room for serving breakfast, maybe, like, a barbecue corner in the garden and a little playground for kids.”

Dean smiles at the thought, a little lopsided, like he knows it's nothing more than a dream but likes the idea anyway.

“Obviously I would have to move to a more tourist-y place, like California or hell, Vermont,” he muses, “but it would be pretty cool, don't you think?”

“I think it's an excellent idea,” Cas agrees. “You clearly have a knack for it.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, Dean, you're very good an nesting.”

“Excuse me?”

Cas laughs at the look of utter confusion on Dean's face.

“What I mean is, you have a skill for turning a house into a home, so to speak. I'm sure your guests would appreciate that.”

“Isn't it just something that everybody knows how to do?”

Cas shakes his head vigorously, thinking of his own apartment, so bland and unwelcoming compared to Dean's lively home.

“Believe me, not everyone knows how to do that. My friend Anna, for example, moved into her new place over a year ago and still hasn't unpacked some of her boxes. Gabriel lives is a bachelor's den and doesn't own a single cooking utensil. I'm not even sure if he knows how to turn an oven on. And then there's me.”

“What's wrong with your place?”

“It's a living space and nothing more,” Cas says with a shrug. “I've lived there for three years and still can't figure out how to make it look nice and homey. But you know exactly what to do to make a glorified shed feel like home. It's a skill, Dean. You should use it.”

“I don't know about that,” Dean mutters, rubbing his neck to hide his embarrassment.

It's all Cas can do to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

“You suck at receiving compliments.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you suck at giving them. _Good at nesting_? The fuck is that?”

Cas laughs then, loud and sudden, and the sound must be infectious because a moment later Dean is laughing too. It leaves a happy feeling in Cas' chest even after the echo of their laughter has long faded.

They take a break then and dive into Dean's picnic basket, eating sandwiches and summer fruit on the back of Cas' truck. The view is not particularly breathtaking, just a steady undulation of golden fields of wheat, but they find it pleasant nonetheless. They relax like that until sunset, when the light is just right and Cas can go back to photographing Woodpecker's Bridge. The dark, rotten wood looks eerie in the perfect sunlight and against the reddening sky. Cas is positive that Tessa is going to love it.

After that evening Dean and Cas fall into a routine. Cas leaves the Barn early every morning, driving back to the bridge they visited the night before to capture it at sunrise. By the time he comes back, Dean is already on his way to work, so Cas spends the rest of the day editing his pictures, relaxing in the sun, or playing video games with Sam if John isn't home. And then every evening after work Dean takes him to another one of the five bridges, where they mix work with pleasure by having dinner together on the back of Castiel's truck and talking just about anything under the sky.

It's idyllic, really, and the only thing that casts a shadow over this perfect week is the knowledge that every evening they spend together brings them closer to the day when Cas will pack his bags and head back to Chicago.

But they don't talk about that.

On Saturday night the weather breaks. Eastern wind rushes over Madison County, unfolding a blanket of rain-heavy clouds over the parched fields, the roads and the little houses. Dean and Cas are having a beer on the porch when the first raindrops hit the roof, both unaware that the change in weather will bring a change to their relationship.

“I better turn in,” Cas says reluctantly. He'd rather spend the rest of the evening, all through the night and until dawn in Dean's company, but he knows he needs to be up early next morning to visit Spruce Bridge again.

“Do you want some extra blankets? It might get chilly tonight,” Dean offers.

His arms full of blankets, Cas dashes across the garden and into the dry shelter of the Barn. It's still early, but the clouds have covered the sun entirely and Cas needs to turn on the light to see where he's going. Even though he was exposed to the rain for just a few seconds his shirt is drenched and his jeans cling uncomfortably to his legs. He strips off the wet clothes and steps into the shower, relishing in how his muscles relax under the hot spray. He falls asleep easily after that, feeling warm and protected under the covers Dean offered him.

An hour later his restful sleep is interrupted by a loud thud. Cas wakes up with a start, his heart beating frantically, but there is no obvious danger lurking in the pitch-black room. There's just the howl of wind outside, the drumming of rain hitting the windows, and somewhere in the distance the low murmur of thunder. He reaches over to the lamp on the his nightstand, but the switch doesn't work. The storm must have cut off all electricity.

Using the torch in his phone he inspects the room to find the source of the noise. From what he can make out in the shadows a branch of a nearby tree has hit the roof and punched a hole in it, large enough for the wind and the rain to invade the house and disturb Castiel's peace.

He moves to the window overlooking the Winchester's house and sighs in relief when he sees the faint flicker of candles in the kitchen windows. They call out to him like a beacon among the rough sea of the garden and Castiel is powerless to decline their invitation. He dresses quickly, putting on a dry pair of jeans, his boots and a t-shirt, and curses himself for not bringing anything warmer with him. Maybe Dean will have a sweater to lend him.

Once out the door Castiel is surrounded by a dark mass of swarming shadows and shapes, sticking wetly to his face and his hands as he runs towards the light. He stumbles on his way up the porch steps, cursing loudly, but it doesn't matter, he's made it, he's safe now. The knock on the door is barely audible to his own ears among the howl of the storm, but Dean hears him and lets him in.

“Cas! Come on, get inside.”

Warm hands grab his arms and pull him inside, towards the warmth and the calm. Concern is etched on Dean's face as he leans closer and Castiel thinks, stupidly, that Dean is about to kiss him. That doesn't happen, of course, because Castiel's life is hardly a harlequin novel. Instead, Dean's rough fingers brush the wet hair out of Castiel's face as his eyes inspect him for any signs of injury.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“You look like shit.”

“That's hurtful.”

Dean grins and nudges him towards a chair, where Castiel is to sit and relax while he fetches a towel for him and some warm clothes. He comes back three minutes later with Sam in tow, who's holding more candles and a big box of matches.

“Hi, Cas,” Sam greets him. “Dean says you went for a little stroll in the garden. Must be pleasant this time of night.”

“Yes, I find midnight walks in raging storms very refreshing,” he says dryly, eliciting a little laugh from both brothers.

“Seriously, though, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” That look of concern is back on Dean's face as he hands him a towel. Cas wipes his face and rough dries his hair before replying.

“There's a hole in the roof of the Barn,” he says. “It's not very big, but I didn't want to stay there for the night in case the rest of the roof caved in.”

“Fuck, Cas, I'm sorry.”

Dean collapses on the chair next to him, looking more worried than Castiel has ever seen him.

“It's not your fault,” Cas says gently.

“You could have been hurt.”

“But I'm alright. No harm done. Except for the roof.”

“And your cameras? What if they get damaged?”

“It shouldn't be a problem,” Cas assures him. “They're stored safely on the ground floor.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Dean says, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

Castiel glances at his watch. It's just before eleven o'clock, though it feels much later, somehow.

“You look tired. Do you want to turn in?” he asks Dean, but he just shakes his head.

“Nah. We're waiting to hear from dad.”

“He's not home?” Cas can't say he cares for John very much, but he still wouldn't wish for him to be alone out there in this weather.

“We haven't seen him since yesterday morning,” Sam explains, a mix of bitterness and worry in his tone. “We've called the station, but they said he wasn't there. We're hoping he might be with uncle Bobby, but he's not answering his phone either”.

“I'm sure they're fine,” Dean says, though it's hard to tell whether he's trying to convince Sam and Cas or himself. “Why don't you go upstairs, Sammy? Get some shut eye. Lord knows you need all the beauty sleep you can get.”

Cas snorts loudly and tries to cover it with a cough, but Sam's not buying it.

“Fine, I'll go to my room. But only because you two love birds obviously want to be alone. Night, guys.”

And on that bombshell, he walks out.

“I swear I raised him better than this,” Dean mutters.

Cas knows he's blushing and one look at Dean's face tells him that he's not the only one.

He excuses himself to the living room, so he can change into the dry clothes Dean got for him. The comfy sweatpants and Dean's well-worn henley feel nice and warm on Cas' cold skin, but they don't stop the blush from coloring his cheeks. If anything, knowing that he's wearing Dean's clothes makes him blush even more.

Back in the kitchen Dean is pulling out two wine glasses from a cupboard. He turns around when he hears Cas' footsteps and stops in his tracks, giving Cas a once over.

“Looking good, Cas,” he says. “I have to say, these clothes look better on you than on me.”

“I highly doubt that,” Cas replies. “Are we having wine?”

“Yup. Tonight feels like a red wine kinda night.”

Cas watches as Dean pulls out the cork from an expensive-looking bottle of red. A gift from a satisfied customer, Dean tells him. He's been saving it for a special occasion.

When Castiel tips his glass to take the first sip it occurs to him how stupidly romantic this is – the two of them sharing a bottle of wine by candlelight while the storm rages on outside. Dean must be thinking the same thing when he smiles at Cas, a little sheepishly.

“All we need is a plate of spaghetti and an Italian chef to serenade us,” he quips.

The wine is divine. Castiel is torn between savoring it and taking generous gulps to let the buzz of alcohol calm his nerves. In the week since he's got here he has spent a lot of time alone with Dean, but never like this. Tonight, the air between them is charged with something Castiel doesn't dare to define. All he knows is that it's real and that Dean can feel it too. It's evident in the way he looks at Cas, hesitant but hopeful, like there's a question stuck in his throat and he's struggling to get it out.

Castiel takes another sip.

“So, you'll be going back to Chicago soon,” Dean says eventually. He keeps his eyes trained on the contents of his wine glass, as if looking directly at Cas would somehow deter him from bringing this up. “You'll probably be busy with work, huh?”

Castiel tilts his head at the question, trying to decipher the real meaning behind it. He thinks he knows what Dean is getting at but then again, it could just be his wishful thinking.

“I imagine so, yes. But that doesn't mean I won't have time to come back here to see you.”

Dean's head snaps up in surprise. He stares at Cas for a minute, wide-eyed, and Castiel holds his gaze. He wants Dean to know that he means it, that he's given it some thought and didn't just say it because he thought that's what Dean wanted to hear.

“You really think you might come and visit sometimes?” Dean asks. Castiel's heart gives a painful squeeze at the hopeful note in his voice.

“I'd like to, if that's alright with you.”

Dean's face breaks into a smile, so bright and radiant that Castiel can't believe he's the one who caused it, and with something as small as a promise to keep coming back to Dean.

“I'll drink to that,” Dean says with a wink.

And so they do.

Halfway through the bottle Dean fishes his phone out of his pocket to open up his playlist. He plays a soft tune Castiel instantly recognizes as the song they listened to on their way to Roseman bridge. They exchange knowing smiles and listen to the rest of the song without saying a word to one another. There's no need for that, not tonight.

Castiel is on his third glass when Dean's phone buzzes on the table and lights up with a new notification. Dean reads it with a pinched brow, then scoffs and tosses his phone back on the table.

“Everything okay?” Cas asks cautiously.

“It's my dad,” Dean replies. His tone is dark and bitter.

“Is he alright?”

“Yup, safe and sound at his buddy's place. Told me to quit nagging him. Thanks, dad. Sorry for worrying about your dumb ass, I guess.”

Dean takes a careless swig from his glass and winces at the sour taste. Wine wasn't meant to be chugged.

“I don't know why I fucking bother with him,” he confesses after a moment of heavy silence.

“He's your dad.” Cas says. He moves his chair a little closer to Dean, close enough to place his hand on Dean's wrist where it's resting on the table top. “You'll always worry about him. That's just how it works.”

“Yeah, well. I wish it wasn't so damn one-sided.”

“That's not true,” Cas protests softly. “Your father might be a lot of things, but underneath all that I'm sure he loves you.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that? Not all parents love their kids, you know.”

“Most of them do.”

“Your mom doesn't.”

The words are harsh, but Dean's tone is anything but. He's looking at Cas now, he's gaze so gentle and sad it renders Castiel speechless.

“That's different,” he says eventually. His voice sounds weak even to his own ears.

“What if it's not? What if it's the same damn thing?”

“What do you mean?”

For a second Castiel is sure that Dean is going to tell him, and that he revelation will finally push them together. But in the end Dean just shakes his head and the spell is broken.

“Forget it,” Dean says. “It's getting late, we better turn it. Let me show you to the guest room.”

Castiel is a little disappointed at Dean's suggestion, but he doesn't protest. After all, it's not like the evening could have ended in any other way then the two of them going their separate ways, no matter how much Cas wished otherwise.

Still, for a moment, Castiel really thought that something was going to happen between them. A confession, perhaps, rolling off Dean's tongue that could open the floodgates and lead them where they both wanted, but didn't dare to go.

As it is, the abrupt end to their evening together leaves Castiel with a hollow feeling in his chest.

They finish the last of the wine and put out every candle in the kitchen, except for the one Dean takes with them to illuminate their way up the stairs. Somewhere in the distance they can still hear the low murmur of thunder and Castiel suddenly dreads going to bed alone. He wishes Dean could stay with him, just to hold him, just to keep him warm.

_I must be drunk_ , he thinks. _Drunk, desperate and dumb._

“This is the bathroom,” Dean tells him in a hushed tone, so as to not wake Sam. How could Sam have possibly fallen asleep on a night like this, Castiel doesn't know. “This door here is the guest room. Just knock on my door if you need anything, yeah?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas tells him.

“Don't worry about it.”

In the soft light of the candle, Dean's face looks golden. It suits him, Cas thinks. Now more than ever he looks beautiful and precious. Castiel wishes he could kiss him goodnight, but that's not what they are to each other, so instead he stands there and waits for Dean to turn around and disappear into his own room.

But that doesn't happen. Dean doesn't make a move. And although his body is still, his eyes search Castiel's face restlessly, as if waiting for some kind of sign, or a permission, or a request.

“Dean.”

Castiel says his name gently, with care, like the name itself is dear to him. Dean's expression changes into something softer, almost wistful, but in the end he denies them both the one thing they have hoped for.

He takes a step back towards the stairs, taking the warmth of the flame with him.

“Good night, Cas,” he says. “Here, take the candle. I can use the torch on my phone.”

“You're not going to bed?”

“Not yet,” Dean tells him. “I, uh, need to go to the kitchen. Clean up, maybe have another drink. Something stronger this time.”

“I could come with you,” Cas offers, though he's not surprised when Dean turns him down.

“No, it's okay. You stay here, get some shut eye. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?”

He's already walking down the stairs when Castiel finally wishes goodnight to his retreating back.

As expected, sleep doesn't come easily. Maybe it's the storm outside, still going strong, or maybe it's all the conflicting feelings whirring around in his head, but Castiel is restless. He feels rejected by Dean, even though he never actually offered him anything. Still, this feels wrong, being in this strange room by himself when he could be with Dean in his bedroom, the kitchen, the Barn, anywhere at all.

The empty side of the bed mocks him.

Eventually he drifts off, but his rest doesn't last long. He is soon awakened by the distinct feeling that he isn't alone in the room. The mattress dips under someone's weight and Castiel feels a warm body sliding under the covers next to him. He doesn't need to open his eyes to know that it's Dean, but he opens them anyway, just to make sure he isn't dreaming.

In the darkness of the room he can just about make out the contours of Dean's profile – the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. Castiel's heart flutters wildly in his chest. Dean is in his bed, through his own initiative. Could this mean...?

Something feels off, though. Dean wiggles around a little, trying to get comfortable, then sighs happily as his head sinks into the pillow. He says nothing to Castiel and doesn't reach out to him, doesn't even roll on his side to face him. He just lies on his back, seemingly relaxed, and Cas can hear his breath slowing down, as if he was slowly falling asleep.

Confused and uncertain, Castiel whispers Dean's name.

Dean jerks awake with a surprised yelp and looks around wildly.

“Cas? What are you doing in my room?”

“What do you mean? This is the guest room, you told me I could crash here.”

Dean fumbles in the dark and then his phone torch comes on, illuminating what is indeed the guest room. Dean realises his mistake and turns to Cas with a horrified expression on his face.

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes out. “I was sure this was my room. I didn't mean to... Fuck, I just got in your bed like a total creep. Cas, I'm sorry, I swear I wasn't trying anything.”

_Well, I wish you would_ , Cas thinks, but knows better than to say it out loud.

“It's okay, Dean. You must have lost your way in the dark. No big deal.”

To his surprise Dean falls back on his pillow with a laugh.

“Man, I more drunk than I thought,” he says. “I was walking up the stairs, thinking of you, and my feet just carried me right here. It's kinda funny when you think about it.”

“You were thinking about me?”.

Dean laughs again, a little breathlessly.

“Don't sound so surprised. You've been on my mind since you got here. It's actually annoying, you know. I can't get you out of my head.”

Cas stares at him in stunned silence, slowly processing his words. His heart is out of control.

But the silence drags on. With no response to his confession Dean sighs deeply in defeat and sits up, ready to leave the bed.

Since words have failed him Castiel decides to act. Instinctively, he reaches out to Dean and grabs his wrist, pinning him in place.

“Stay,” he says. “Stay with me.”

He can't see Dean's face in the dark and for one terrifying moment he thinks that Dean will yank his hand out of Castiel's grip and walk out of the room. But that doesn't happen. Instead, Dean says,

“Are you sure?”

Easy question.

“Yes.”

Dean's hand moves away, but only so that Dean can press it to the side of Castiel's cheek. The touch is brief and feather-like, but it steals the air out of Castiel's chest all the same.

“Dean,” he says.

“I'm here, Cas. Not going anywhere.”

This is almost too good to be true, but in his heart Cas knows this isn't a dream. It is merely the next step they both knew they would eventually take – obvious and inevitable.

Slowly, they sink back under the covers, still facing each other. They can't see much in the darkness, but it doesn't matter. They both know that the other one is there, within reach, so close yet somehow not close enough.

But they will find the way to close that final gap. Tonight, they just need to be together.

They fall asleep with their hands intertwined.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dean finds that hitting nails with a hammer helps to clear his head more than anything else. It hasn't always been that way, of course. When he was younger and full of teenage rage he preferred taking a crowbar to one of the piece-of-crap cars in Bobby's junk yard, but he has since learned that hammering nails is a much more useful way of dealing with pent-up frustration. He still gets to hit something, but rather than wreaking havoc like a petulant god he can actually fix things. It's a lot more constructive that way.

Come to think of it, the hole in the roof is more of a blessing than an inconvenience. It has provided Dean with the perfect coping mechanism after the events of last night.

So he and Cas fell asleep holding hands. Big fucking deal.

He used to do that a lot with Sam when they were kids. Sammy often had nightmares and would crawl into Dean's bed in the middle of the night to seek comfort. Dean would shush him and stroke his hair until Sam drifted off again, his tiny hand squeezing Dean's all through the night.

Dean knows, of course, that what he and Cas did was completely different and not comparable at all, but right now he doesn't really want to dissect it. So he hammers another nail and wipes the sweat off his brow, and doesn't think about anything, least of all the way he felt when he woke up wrapped in Castiel's arms.

Safe. Cared for. _Cuddled._

Not that it matters, of course. There will be no sequels.

“Your bedside manners leave a lot to be desired." 

Dean stills at the sound of Castiel's voice. He looks down from the ladder and sees Cas standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing like the poster boy for nonchalance.

“The coffee was a nice touch, though,” Cas says. His posture is relaxed, but there is no mistaking the intensity in his gaze. He wants to know what the hell has happened between them last night. Dean hates that he doesn't have any answers.

“Yeah, well. I figured it was kinda shitty of me to leave without waking you up. Consider that cup of coffee an apology." 

“Apology accepted."

Cas moves closer to the ladder and looks up at the ceiling. It's mostly patched up, if a little crudely, but it still needs work.

“Let me help you,” Cas says.

“You know anything about handiwork?”

“I know enough." 

Cas, as it turns out, is pretty good with a hammer (no pun intended). His moves are fast and efficient, almost as well-practiced as Dean's.

“Your dad taught you how to do that?”

Cas laughs under his breath.

“I don't think my father had ever held a screwdriver in his hand, let alone a hammer. He was a true intellectual – bright and talented, but absolutely useless at real life skills."

“Huh,” Dean says. “Kinda the polar opposite of my old man. So how come you're so good at fixin' stuff? Self-taught?”

Cas casts him a caution glance, then focuses his attention back at his work. He takes his time choosing the right tool out of Dean's goodie box before he finally answers.

“My ex was good at handiwork. The apartment we moved in to together was a fixer-upper, to say the least, so I had plenty of opportunity to learn from him." 

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly. “That makes sense."

They work in silence after that, until the hole in the ceiling disappears under a fresh layer of wooden planks. It's the best Dean can do for now, but it should be enough to keep Castiel's head dry the next time it rains.

Cas helps him clean up despite Dean's wordless protests. They put the tools back in the box, fold up the ladder and carry it outside, where it lives propped against the back wall of the Barn.

It's only when his hands are empty again that Dean notices how still and quiet the world around him is. There are no birds chirping, no insects buzzing, no cars driving past the house, down the winding road and towards the town. The garden feels empty, the smell of wet grass too heavy in the air, the sky the wrong shade of blue where it appears for seconds at a time in between heavy clouds.

Dean can't shake the feeling that it's all wrong, somehow. Like returning for the second act of a play, only to discover that he's in the wrong theater all together. He can tell that Cas feels the same way by the way he turns his head away every time Dean tries to catch his eye.

The silence stretches between them, pulling them apart, until Dean can't take it anymore and says the first thing that comes to his mind.

“What's his name? Your ex's, I mean."

For some unknown reason he wants to put a name to the faceless man who got to be to Cas what he so desperately wants for himself.

Cas doesn't seem surprised by the question, as if he knew that it was rattling around Dean's brain this whole time. Sometimes Dean is amazed by how easy it is for Cas to understand him, even though they haven't known each other for long. Something just clicks between them, simple as that.

“Inias,” comes Cas' reply. He still refuses to look at Dean.

“What happened? Why did you guys break up?”

At last, Castiel's beautiful blue eyes meet Dean's.

“Inias was a good man. We understood each other well and had a solid, loving relationship. But I guess, after three years, our love had just run its course."

Dean can't say he knows how that feels. He had never had a real relationship with anyone, let alone a solid one. But he can imagine how heartbreaking it must be to look at someone you once loved and know that the feeling has gone.

“I'm sorry,” he says, at a loss for more fitting words.

“Such is life,” Cas says with a shrug.

It seems that he has nothing else to say on the topic of his past relationships, so Dean doesn't press him.

Still, Cas' words echo around in his head, making him nervous. Up to this point he hasn't really imagined Cas with other men, let alone being in loving relationships with them and even living together. The image feels strange to him, both alluring and terrifying. Is that really something he could have, too? He has always known that there was more to life than meaningless hookups with random guys after four rounds of beer and whiskey, but he has never allowed himself to think that he could experience the better things for himself.

Having Cas tell him so casually about his relationship with another man shakes Dean to his very core. And so he reacts the only way he knows how – he bolts.

“I gotta go,” he blurts out.

“Oh?” Castiel says flatly. Once again is seems that this is exactly what he expected from Dean and the realization makes Dean feel like shit. But he can't win against this primal instinct to get the fuck away, so he takes a step back, his head spinning in an effort to come up with an excuse.

“I just... promised Charlie I would have lunch with her."

As soon as the lie rolls off his tongue he realizes that Charlie is actually the person he needs to see right now. She's the only one who can talk him through this little meltdown and offer some golden advice. Good old Charlie. His very own fairy gaymother.

“It's barely past eleven in the morning,” Cas observes, his tone suggesting that he can see Dean's bullshit in all its rotten glory.

“Yeah, well. Charlie's weird like that. But hey, I'll catch you later, okay?”

Not waiting for Cas' reply, Dean crosses the sunless garden to find refuge inside his car. When Baby's engine roars to life Dean tells himself that he only imagined the hurt and anger on Castiel's face. He can see him in the rear-view mirror as he pulls out on the road and realizes with a painful beat of his heart that Cas is still wearing the clothes Dean gave him the night before.

His need to get away from Cas grows even stronger. He knows that he's overreacting, but he can't help it. Who knew that keeping things bottled up for years might eventually lead to broken glass.

One hand on the wheel, he dials Charlie's number and asks her to meet him at Ellen's, no questions asked. For the entire drive there Dean fights to keep his head clear, hoping against all odds that by the time he gets to the Roadhouse a solution will come to him and he won't have to talk things over with Charlie.

But since his brain is an asshole no miracles happen and he is back to square one.

Charlie's already waiting for him in their usual booth, with two cups of Ellen's finest coffee and a plate of onion rings on the table. Sometimes Dean can't believe that he's lucky enough to have her in his life.

“You look like shit,” she says brightly. “Rough night?”

“Something like that." 

“Okay, talk to me. What's going on with you?”

Dean reaches for his cup and takes a sip of coffee, hissing when it scolds his tongue. Charlie watches him patiently, knowing that he needs time to find the the right words. Dean figures she probably knows what's eating him anyway.

Around them, the roadhouse fills up with the lunchtime crowd. It's such a stark contrast to how still and empty his garden was just minutes before that it almost doesn't feel real. Strangely, it eases Dean into spilling his guts.

“You know when we were in 8th grade and Lisa Breaden invited us to her birthday party?” he says eventually.

Charlie nods, unsure of where he's going with it.

“I had such a crush on her back then. Head over heels, really."

“I remember,” Charlie says, a hint of teasing in her voice. “Every time you talked to her a part of my soul died from second hand embarrassment." 

“Shut up,” Dean says, his cheeks turning red at the memory of every failed interaction with Lisa. He wishes he could say that he is a lot more smooth around women now, but the truth is he's still a clueless idiot around anyone he really likes. This whole morning being an excellent case in point.

“Anyway, we were at her birthday party and we were playing 'spin the bottle', remember?”

“God, it's all coming back to me know,” Charlie says with a grimace. “I think I know where you're going with this."

“It was supposed to be my big moment, right? My first kiss with the girl I liked. But when that bottle finally pointed at both of us I just... I just lost it. I got so nervous I couldn't breathe and I had to run to the bathroom to throw up. It was awful."

He shakes his head, the memory still raw even though it happened twelve years ago. Charlie pats his hand in empathy, but the shine in her eyes tells him that she still finds it amusing.

“There, there,” she says, holding back a smile. “All's well that ends well. You still got to take her to prom, right?”

“That's not the point,” Dean says. “I could have kissed her at that party but I didn't, because I couldn't handle it. I wanted it too much and then I chickened out and made an ass of myself. And I thought I had learned my lesson, but clearly nothing's changed. I'm still an idiot."

“What are you saying, Dean?”

“It's happened again, Charlie,” Dean says, looking up at his friend. “I had my chance with Cas and I blew it."

Charlie exhales, her expression going soft with worry.

“What happened?”

And so Dean tells her. About Cas showing up on his porch late at night, drenched to the bone, and how stupidly happy Dean was at the mere sight of him. How they spent the night by candlelight and how they shared a bed in the most PG-13 way imaginable that somehow still managed to rock Dean's world. And how incredibly happy he felt the next morning when the first thing he saw after opening his eyes was Castiel's face, softened with sleep.

When he gets to the part in the story where he slipped out of bed and left Cas to wake up alone Charlie shakes her head in exasperation.

“Dean...” she starts, in that tone she always takes when she's about to scold him. But Dean doesn't need that, not right now and not from her.

“What else was I supposed to do?” he asks, his own voice growing louder with annoyance. “My dad could've come home any minute and if he saw us together like that...”

He doesn't finish the sentence, too mortified to even imagine John's reaction. Charlie seems to understand, though. She reaches out to Dean's hand, where it's balled up in a fist on the table, and squeezes it gently until he relaxes again.

“I made Cas coffee,” Dean says under his breath, so softly Charlie almost doesn't hear it. “I left it on his beside table so he would see it when he woke up. So he wouldn't think I didn't care."

For a moment they stay quiet and Dean lets the noise of the Roadhouse seep into his mind and drown out his thoughts. Ellen's bar is one of many places in town he instinctively goes to when he's feeling down, when he needs the comfort and familiarity only a home could give him. Bobby's junk yard and Jody's house are his safe havens, too.

The house he lives in was never one of those places.

“Did you see Cas after you left him?” Charlie asks, bringing him right back to the here and now.

Dean groans and hides his face in his palms.

“I'll take that as a _yes_ ,” she says. “Go on, tell me what happened. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think." 

As Dean recaps his conversation with Cas it dawns on him that Charlie is right. It's not as bad as he thought. It's so, so much worse.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose to fend off a growing headache. “Cas mentioned his ex, which made you realize that hey, the guy has had relationships before and might expect one from you, since you two are obviously into each other, and that made you freak out and run away?”

“That's the gist of it, yeah,” Dean admits, wishing his coffee had a shot of whiskey in it.

“You're an idiot."

Make it two shots.

“I don't need you to tell me that, I know I fucked up. I'm the biggest jackass on the planet."

“I still don't get it,” Charlie says, ignoring Dean's spiral into self-loathing. “I thought you wanted to be with Cas? Or were you just hoping for a roll in the hey and a kiss goodbye?”

Charlie's words, though not intended that way, still feel like a slap in the face. Dean knows that he's no angel, that most of his romantic and sexual exploits consist of exactly what Charlie described, but it's not like that's all he cares about. Truth be told, every time he had a one night stand he always secretly hoped that it would turn into something more. But it almost never did, so he would try again with someone else. Again, and again, and again until one day he realized that maybe one night of hot fun was all he was good for. So he embraced it, even though it made him feel miserable most of the time. What other choice did he have?

It's different with Cas, though. They have a connection that goes beyond physical attraction, Dean knows that much. In the week they have spent together Dean has revealed more to Cas about himself than to anyone else in his life, with the exception of Sammy, perhaps.  

Thinking about it now, Dean finally understands that the two of them have been courting each other from the moment they exchanged greetings over the roof of Castiel's truck. Every step they have taken since then have led them to that one, inevitable conclusion Dean was so afraid of this morning.

“I need to talk to Cas,” he says, standing so abruptly that his knees hit the table.

“What, right now?”

“I gotta fix this, Charlie." 

“Dean, oh my God,” she says excitedly, following him out of the bar, “is this your big, romantic moment? It totally is, isn't it!”

“I don't know what this is. A trainwreck, probably. But I gotta try."

Once they're outside, Charlie pulls him into a hug. Dean hangs on to her like a lifeline while she whispers encouragements into his ear.

“It's gonna be alright,” she says. “You just need to be honest with him. Easy enough, right?”

Dean laughs nervously, his breath tousling her bright red hair.

“Thanks, Charlie. Don't know what I would do without you."

“Crash and burn, probably."

Dean's hands shake on the drive back. The air is light and fresh after last night's storm, so he rolls the windows down and takes deep, steadying breaths. He's trying not to overthink his actions. Instead, he makes a simple _to do_ list in his head: drive back home, find Cas, tell him-

The list doesn't go any further.

Step two already proves difficult when he sees that Cas' truck is not in its usual spot by the maple tree. Instead, that space is occupied by John's police car. Dean freezes momentarily, panic rising in his throat, but decides to push on. He makes a u-turn on the driveway and heads in the only other direction he can think of – to Roseman Bridge.

Sure enough, Castiel's truck is nestled on the edge of the cornfield, just a few yards away from the bridge. The red varnish, muted with dust, calls out to Dean like a beacon among the green fields. He parks his own car just behind the truck and kills the engine. The silence that follows is almost deafening, but he takes comfort in it.

On with it, Winchester.

Just like the night before Dean's feet carry him towards Cas. He starts out slow and unsure, but with each step his determination grows. He deserves it. He deserves to dive head first into something good, something that can make his life so much sweeter, so much happier.

As he crosses the bridge he lets his thoughts run wild. He imagines walking up to Cas and kissing him senseless. He imagines the two of them falling for each other hard and fast over the next week, until Cas has to pack up and go home. But Chicago is only a couple of hours away. Dean could drive up there the very next weekend, surprise Cas in his little apartment, stay over until Sunday night. He could make the same drive the next week, and a week after that. Then Cas could come down to Madison County again, under the pretense of doing another shoot. They could go back and forth like that for long enough to figure out how real this thing between them is. And then, well. Dean's too giddy to imagine how far the two of them could go.

There's still no sign of Cas on the other side of the bridge, but Dean's not giving up. He turns west, where the stream bends. There, underneath the old willow tree where they once shared a beer, he finally finds him.

Dean smiles and picks up the pace.

At the sound of Dean's footsteps Cas raises his head and locks eyes with Dean. Even though they parted on bad terms this morning Cas still smiles at him, so softly and hopefully Dean needs to stop himself from running up to him and crashing their mouths together.

And that's when he remembers his father's car parked by the maple tree, where Cas likes to leave his truck. He thinks about John's face when he spat insults at Cas and imagines himself on the receiving end of his father's disgust.

He slows down until his feet can carry him no more.

“Dean?” Cas asks. “Are you alright?”

Dean's not alright. He feels sheer, blinding panic and knows now he can't go through with this. There's no way he can take a shot at happiness with Cas, not unless he wants his father to never speak to him again. And just like that, his little fantasy future with Cas is shattered.

“I'm fine,” Dean says. “I just... can we talk?”

Cas invites Dean to sit beside him. The grass is still a little damp, but Dean can't bring himself to care. He joins Cas under the willow tree, feeling the weight of his decision on his shoulders.

“I'm sorry about this morning,” he says. Too ashamed to meet Cas' eye, he looks out on the stream and the wild flowers growing alongside it. But that only makes him think of the bouquet Cas gave him and how he put it right under John's nose in an act of silent defiance. Dean can't bear to think about that right now, so he drops his gaze and stares at the top of his boots.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Cas assures him. He's too good. How could Dean have thought that he deserved to be with Cas?

“That's bullshit and you know it. I shouldn't have ditched you, _twice_. But I need you to know it wasn't because I didn't want you."

He's surprised by his own bluntness. When he risks a look at Cas he sees that Cas is just as stunned, but recovers quickly.

“Then why?” Cas asks, not unkindly.

Dean looks down again and shrugs.

“Truth be told I just got scared."

“Have you... Is it because you've never done this with a man before?”

Dean laughs then, and it sounds hollow.

“Cas, believe me, I've done that and plenty more with other men. Just... never this way, you know?”

“I don't know. You've never told me any of this."

“Huh, I guess I haven't."

Cas expects an explanation and damn it, Dean owes it to him.

“I play for both teams, as dumb as it sounds,” Dean says. “But you've probably figured that out by now."

“I had my suspicions, yes."

“Then you're far more observant than most of my family and friends. Or maybe I just don't hide it around you like I do when I'm with them."

“So your family doesn't know you're bi?”

Dean shakes his head, still refusing to look at Cas. In the stillness of the moment he hears Cas sigh and shift uncomfortably.

“I see where you're going with this,” he says, his voice even lower than usual.

“Charlie's the only person I've come out to,” Dean admits. “But only because she's gay. I knew she would understand. And then Sam, that little shit, somehow figured it out and confronted me about it a few days ago."

“Don't worry,” he adds quickly, sensing Cas' concern, “he's cool with it. Annoyingly supportive, actually. But I can't know for sure that the rest of them would react that way. I just can't risk it."

“Your friends are good people, Dean. I'm sure something like this wouldn't stop them from loving you."

The certainty in Cas' voice is almost enough to convince Dean. He wants to believe that his friends wouldn't care about his sexuality, wouldn't change their minds about him over something so trivial. He struggles to imagine someone as loving and supportive as Jody turning her back on him for not being straight; can't picture Jo and Benny cutting ties with him.

And yet, a small but vocal part of him screams that yes, they would, and then what? Dean would end up alone.

“Cas, buddy, you should know that some people might be good to others who are like them, but then be fucking assholes to anyone who's different,” he says, and though he hates to bring it up he feels he needs to drive the point home. “I mean, I bet your mom isn't a bad person either, but she turned on you the second you came out."

He glances at Cas to make sure he hasn't crossed the line. Cas' profile is stark against the cloudy sky. He's staring off into the middle distance, lost in thought. Dean's hands itch to reach out to him, but he keeps them clasped tightly in his lap.

“My mother is a complicated person,” Cas says after a moment of deliberation. “I think she was a lot more pleasant when she was younger, had a lot more love in her. That's what made her elope with my dad in the first place, despite her family's protests. But at some point that infatuation wore off and it left my mother bitter. I don't think my dad ever noticed, or cared enough to fix it. Growing up, I can't remember her ever being affectionate with me and Gabriel, or my dad for that matter. Her rejection upon finding out I was gay was disappointing, but not surprising."

“Still sucks, though."

“Indeed,” Cas nods. “So I understand your trepidation. Coming out to your loved ones always comes with a risk. And while I still believe your friends wouldn't care either way, I don't think I can say the same about your father."

Dean huffs, equal parts amused and mortified.

“Yeah, no, I think it's safe to say my dad wouldn't be happy to hear that his son is... Well, you know what he called you. I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to call me that too."

Voicing his fears makes them seem that much more grounded in reality. Dean still remembers how he recoiled when John hurled a slur right in Cas' face without missing a beat. Thinking that his dad could do the same to him makes him feel sick.

Overall, this afternoon is not going as planned. Dean drove out here to have his _big, romantic moment_ as Charlie had put it, but what he got instead was a heart-to-heart with a man he could fall in love with, but instead had to push away to protect himself. His course of action changed so rapidly it gave him emotional whiplash, leaving him bone-tired and so damn hurt. The flutter of happiness he felt that morning when he woke up next to Cas feels like a distant memory now, like a dream that fades from your consciousness as soon as you wake up.

To summarize, it's all gone balls-up.

But in this tangled, confusing bitch of a situation there is one thing he needs to make clear.

“Cas, I need you to understand that this is not a rejection,” he says, turning to Cas with wide, pleading eyes. “Meeting you, getting to know you has been amazing, believe me. I wish we could keep going. I wish we could have something good. But the only way I could do that with you is by hiding it from everyone else and I don't think that would be fair to either of us."

He's proud of himself for getting it all out and for keeping his voice from breaking. He's done his part, he's told Cas how he feels about him and why they can't make it work, no matter how much Dean wants them to. All he can do now is wait for Cas' response.

Castiel regards him with curious eyes. His head is tilted slightly, as if Dean is a math problem Cas is struggling to make sense of. Apparently today is all about Dean being honest with himself, so he decides to admit freely that he finds Cas utterly adorable.

This is so not the time, dumbass.

“Dean,” Cas says softly and reaches out with a comforting touch to Dean's knee. The warmth of his hand seeps through the denim, soothing Dean. God, he's such a mess. “We don't have to do anything at all. I'm sorry I made you feel like I expected something from you. Just being around you is more than enough."

He says it so sincerely Dean can barely take it.

“C'mon, Cas. Don't be such a sap. This conversation is emotionally compromising as it is."

Seeing Cas' mouth twitch in amusement alleviates some of the tension Dean's been holding in his muscles. He smiles, then smiles wider when Cas mirrors his expression.

“You're absolutely right, Dean. I should not be wasting any more time dealing with the emotional side of this situation. What we should talk about instead is how you find me irresistibly attractive." 

It takes a second for Dean's brain to register that Cas is joking and he lets out an ugly snort.

“Yeah, okay, you got me. I think you're smokin' hot,” he says, beaming at Cas. “But you can't fool me, Cas. I know it's not one-sided. Admit it, you want a piece of that."

Cas' laugh is music to Dean's ears.

“I do,” he admits once he catches his breath. He's looking up at Dean with unconcealed admiration, making him blush under the intensity of his affection. “I think you're remarkable, Dean. And not just your body, although that in itself is a work of art."

“Shuddup,” Dean mumbles. He knows full well that Cas is fucking with him, but is still unable to take a compliment without turning into a pile of goo.

“It's true,” Cas says. “And while I wish we could take our relationship 'to the next level', I will not pressure you into doing anything that could ruin your relationship with your family."

Dean looks at Cas, this guy with gorgeous eyes and messy hair, who uses perfect diction and dorky finger quotes in the same sentence, and wonders just when did he let himself get so fucking gone over him. His only regret is that he doesn't have the balls to go any further with it.

“Come on, Cas, my butt is freezing,” he says, getting up. “Time to go home."

He reaches out to Cas and pulls him to his feet. Without thinking, while their hands are still intertwined, he presses a soft kiss to Castiel's fingers.

Embarrassment colors his cheeks and he turns around, letting go of Cas' hand. He starts walking to where their cars are parked, not daring to look back. After a moment of stunned silence Cas catches up with him and they walk shoulder-to-shoulder, in perfect sync. Above their heads, the sky begins to clear.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Castiel sees John Winchester twice more before the end of his stay in Iowa, both times only in passing. But even when he's not physically near Cas, John seems to loom over him, poisoning what little time he has left to spend with Dean.

So very often Dean will gravitate towards Cas, maybe pressing their shoulders together when they walk side by side, or letting his hand rest on the small of Cas' back, only to pull away seconds later. It's not too different from how they used to be around each other before that night they spent together, only now Cas knows the reason behind it.

Before, he thought that Dean was ashamed of his feelings towards him, maybe even trying to deny his own attraction to Cas. Now, though, Cas knows that Dean wants him, wants to be with him, but neither one of them is ever going to do anything about it in fear or John's reaction. Cas could never make Dean risk his relationship with his father, so he lets them both enjoy the stolen moments of affection, no matter how short-lived they are. If that's all he can get from Dean, so be it.

Dean seems to share Cas' quiet determination. Ever since his confession, he has been at Castiel's side any chance he had, going even as far as taking time off work at the garage. Cas overhears him explaining to his father that Bobby insisted on Dean taking a break, but Cas knows the truth. The clock is ticking for both of them and Dean isn't going to waste a single second on being away from Cas.

Which is how Castiel finds himself huddled close to Dean on a small wooden pier at ass o'clock in the morning, a fishing rod in his hand. The morning is still cool and crisp, but once the sun climbs a little higher, the usual summer heat will spill over the little lake and the meadows surrounding it.

Dean is uncharacteristically quiet, which Cas attributes to the stillness of the morning and the fact that fishing is supposed to be a silent activity. But deep down, he suspects that Dean is thinking about what will happen the next morning when Cas packs his bags and disappears over the horizon in his red pick-up truck. The same thing has been on Castiel's mind for the last few days, no matter how hard he has tried to shoo the thought away.

As far back as he can remember he has never enjoyed coming home. As kids he and Gabriel would often visit their aunt's house in the countryside, where they would spend a week or two horsing around with their many cousins. The rides back home are still one of Castiel's saddest childhood memories.

That familiar feeling of dread is weighting him down now, and he senses that Dean feels it too.

Dean nudges Cas with his elbow and offers him a travel mug with hot coffee he prepared earlier. Even though Dean drinks his with cream and sugar, the sip Cas takes is all black, just how he likes it. As he hands it back to Dean he lets his fingers brush against Dean's, ever so lightly. Another stolen moment. Not nearly enough to satisfy Cas' longing, but it'll do for now. He never knew things so small could feel so monumental.

“Explain to me again what's so great about fishing,” he says grumpily, just to get Dean to talk. He's missed the sound of Dean's voice.

“I dunno,” Dean replies. “It's relaxing, I guess. Are you not enjoying it?”

“It is pleasant enough,” Cas agrees, “but only because we're together. Then again,” he adds, pushing his luck, “I could do just about anything, no matter how unpleasant, if you were there with me."

“Dude. Shut up,” Dean groans, turning red. He shakes his head at Cas and calls him a sap, but his face is brightened by a soft smile for the rest of the morning.

They go back home empty-handed, but that's okay. Catching fish was never really the reason for this little trip. On the way back Dean's mood is lifted, which Cas knows by the way he sings off key to every song on the radio. Learning Dean's little quirks and the way he expresses his emotions has been a fascinating study, one that Castiel now excels at.

They stop in town for late breakfast and more coffee. They're halfway through a stack of pancakes when sheriff Mills stops by to say hello. She and Dean fall into an easy conversation, talking excitedly about the upcoming end of summer party, and Cas listens to them with smiling eyes.

“Castiel, are you gonna join us?” Jody asks. “There will be food and enough beer to make us regret it all in the morning."

Cas assures her that he would love to come to the party, but he doesn't know yet what his schedule will be like once he's back in Chicago. He catches Dean's eye when he says it, and the hopeful look on Dean's face is enough to convince Cas to come back to Iowa at the end of the summer no matter what.

Jody tells him again that he's welcome to join them if he can, then kisses Dean's cheek goodbye and leaves the diner with a tray of coffees in her hand.

“So,” Dean says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Last day in Iowa. What do you want to do?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Cas says, as if he is in deep thought. “I don't think anything can top that fishing trip. It's all downhill from there."

“God, you're insufferable,” Dean rolls his eyes. “It wasn't that bad, was it?”

“Dean, my butt is still stiff from sitting on that deck."

“Cry me a river, Cas. What happened to _I'll do any shitty thing as long as it's with you_?”

Cas' serious expression breaks into a toothy smile at Dean's attempt to mimic his voice.

“I stand by it,” he says. “And I was hoping to go to Roseman Bridge again, for old time's sake."

“Old times meaning last week?” Dean says with smirk.

“Feels a lot longer,” Cas shrugs.

They decide to go back to the bridge at sunset with a couple of beers, as per their tradition. Until then they're happy to drive aimlessly around Madison County in Dean's car, with the windows rolled down and music blaring through the speakers. It's such a summer love cliché, but Cas adores every second of it.

By the time they get to Roseman Bridge the sun is hanging low in the sky and the first evening breeze cuts through the humid air. Dean's damp t-shirt clings to his lower back and Cas can't take his eyes off of it. Maybe it's the heat, or the fact that he's running on five hours of sleep because apparently you need to go fishing at dawn like a crazy person, but Cas' resolve is slowly crumbling down. He knows that the boundaries Dean has set for them are not just lines in the sand, but after spending the whole day in Dean's company it's getting progressively more difficult to keep himself from crossing them. Letting their hands meet when they both reach for the radio dial is one thing. Ripping the t-shirt off Dean's back and kissing him senseless would be a disaster in the making.

And so Castiel restrains himself and doesn't do any of the things he wants to do with Dean. Instead, they sit on the hood of the Impala and share a couple of beers, watching as the sun paints the sky pink. It's a bitter-sweet evening and Castiel does his best to commit every detail to memory: the darkening horizon, the smell of grass, the melody Dean hums quietly, which Cas recognizes as a Led Zeppelin song they listened to in the car.

Usually Dean hums or sings when he's happy. Tonight, though, it's a sign of restlessness. He hops off the hood of the car and strolls over to the bridge, then back to Cas, then back to the bridge. Something's eating at him, but Cas doesn't ask what's on his mind. He knows it's best to let Dean gather his thoughts first. He'll talk to Cas when he's ready.

“We should take a picture,” Dean says eventually. He's standing at the mouth of the bridge with his back turned to Cas and his face tilted towards the sky. “You're a photographer, for crying out loud. It's a crime we don't have any pictures together."

“I don't have my camera on me,” Cas says ruefully. He usually carries it with him wherever he goes, but today his mind has been occupied by other things. His favorite camera is still in the Barn, waiting to be packed away the next morning.

Dean huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

“You and your fancy cameras,” he says. “I've got my phone, what more do we need?”

He beacons for Cas to join him and wraps his arm around Cas' waist, holding the phone up with his other hand. With the old bridge behind them and the reddening sun kissing them goodnight, it's bound to be a perfect picture. That is until Dean gleefully smacks Cas' ass just as he takes the pic, which results in a photograph of Dean's shit-eating grin and Cas' unimpressed side-eye.

Still pretty perfect in Cas' book.

They decide to take another one after that, this time both posing in a more conventional way and smiling happily at the camera. Dean fiddles with his phone in an effort to find the right angle, although Cas suspects it's only an excuse to be this close to him for a little longer. Not that he minds. There's nowhere he'd rather be right now than at this forgotten bridge in the middle of empty fields with a man who laughs too loudly and loves too fiercely, and can't finish a burger without getting ketchup all over his face.

And yeah, Cas is a goner now. There's no way he can go back to Chicago and go on about his life without having Dean at his side.

Satisfied with the angle, Dean wraps his arm even tighter around Cas, until Cas' back is flush against Dean's chest. Through the thin layers of clothing Cas can feel Dean's warmth and the way his heart beats wildly in his chest. It takes him by surprise, feeling just how much Dean craves to be near him, and his own heart follows suit.

In a sudden flood of bravery, or recklessness, he turns around in Dean's arms to face him. They're standing so close he can feel warmth radiating from Dean's overheated skin, but it's still not close enough. Dean's eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't step back. For a moment they just look at each other, communicating with their eyes what is too precious to be said out loud, and then Dean leans in to catch Cas' lips with his own.

It's soft and hesitant at first, until Cas presses his hand to the side of Dean's face to bring him closer still. Cas can taste beer and maple syrup on Dean's lips, and it makes him hum happily into the kiss. Before Cas can lose himself in the taste of Dean and the sensation of their bodies coming together, Dean pulls away.

“Dean?” Cas breathes out. He's feeling a little dazed, but the panic rising in his throat is quickly sobering him up. There was a clear line and he crossed it. Lord knows what will happen next, how Dean will react. Cas is sure that whatever happens, it won't be good.

Dean isn't even looking at him. His wild eyes are scanning the corn fields around them and the winding country road ahead for any sign of unwanted spectators. Blessedly, they are alone. And if someone was to appear near them, their silhouettes would be obscured by the summer dusk spilling out of the mouth of Roseman Bridge. They are safe.

When Dean looks back at Cas, there is no fear in his eyes, no trepidation. Without warning he surges forward and crushes their mouths together.

This time the kiss is deeper and hungrier. Whatever boundaries they might have built between them are now tumbling down in the silence of the evening. Cas' hands make their way under Dean's t-shirt, where his skin is still damp with sweat. He runs his hands up and down Dean's back in a soothing motion and when Dean makes an impatient sound at the back of his throat Cas let his fingernails scrape Dean's skin ever so lightly. Dean's eager response is intoxicating.

It's still not enough to satisfy Castiel's longing, though. Feeling bold, he leads them blindly towards the bridge until Dean's back hits one of the wooden beams. Dean breaks the kiss for long enough to grin at Cas, then catches his lips again, nibbling at them playfully.

Castiel soon becomes lost in the scent of Dean's cologne mixed with his sweet summer sweat, in the rhythm of Dean's breathing and the little sounds he makes every time Cas bites at his lower lip. It's enough to make Cas forget about Chicago, or John Winchester, or the million other reasons why they shouldn't be doing this. It feels right, so screw everything else.

Castiel has thought about this very situation so many times in the last two weeks, yet he suddenly can't recall any of the scenarios he has dreamed up for the two of them and is left to act on pure instinct. He nudges Dean's legs apart and presses his thigh between them, relishing in the way Dean's head rolls backwards, hitting the beam with a soft thud.

“Jesus fuck,” Dean breathes.

Castiel chuckles and works his way down Dean's neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin under Dean's jaw and in the hollow of his throat. Dean is breathing heavily now and gently rocking his hips on Cas' thigh to get some friction. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure all through Cas' body and he wishes they could take this further, but doesn't dare to suggest it. He's already initiated the first kiss, and that time they spent the night together after the storm. He doesn't want to push Dean, to make him feel pressured into doing something he might not be ready for. If this is as far as Dean is willing to go, Cas won't ask for more.

Dean, as it turns out, wants this and so much more.

He breathes out Castiel's name to get his attention and when their eyes meet, Cas feels his knees buckle. Dean looks incredible with his flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. He's radiant and golden, and Cas can't believe his own damn luck. Unable to resist, he kisses Dean – just a chaste, fleeting press of his lips, a sign of affection rather than desire.

Dean seems to get the sentiment. He smiles at Cas, then kisses his nose to make him laugh.

“Cas,” Dean says.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Remember when I asked you what you wanted to do on your last day here?”

“That was less than twelve hours ago so yes, I remember,” Cas replies, sneaking one hand under Dean's t-shirt again, this time to run his thumb over Dean's left nipple.

“Smartass,” Dean grins. “Listen. There's something I want to do, too."

Dean's voice comes out deeper than usual, more breathless. Castiel feels his head spin with burning hope.

“Tell me,” he says.

He's surprised by how commanding he sounds, but Dean seems to like it, if the way he whimpers and cants his hips up involuntarily is any indication.

“Cas,” Dean says again. Castiel kisses him to taste his own name on his tongue. “I want you. All of you."

Castiel draws back to take a good look at him, to make sure he heard it right. Dean's bright eyes stare back at him in the dimming light and there is no mistaking the determination and hunger behind them.

“Are you sure?” Cas asks. This is important and he needs to get this right.

“Yeah, Cas. 'Course I'm sure,” Dean says with the sweetest smile. “This ain't rocket science. I like you. I care about you. I'm gonna miss you. Let me show you just how much."

He tilts his hips up again, this time much more firmly. It's an obvious ploy to get Cas on board and it works. Cas can feel Dean's erection pressing on his thigh and it's enough to make him abandon the last shreds of inhibition he might have had. He dives right in, kissing Dean firmly and with no concern for tomorrow. Dean follows suit, grabbing fistfuls of Cas' t-shirt and yanking it up until Cas gets the memo and pulls the shirt over his head.

The look Dean gives him nearly sweeps him off his feet. Cas knows that he's a decent looking man, has been told as much enough times to believe it, but no one has ever looked at him the way Dean is looking at him now. Like he's the best damn thing Dean has ever seen. Like this is some kind of dream Dean doesn't want to wake up from.

It's a little more than Cas can take, so he steps right back into Dean's personal space and kisses him some more. It's not long before Dean loses his t-shirt too and it's Castiel's turn to stare.

Even in the milky moonlight Dean's skin looks warm and sun-kissed. Cas can see constellations of freckles adorning Dean's chest, all the way down to his soft belly and the little trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his washed-out jeans. Without thinking, he reaches out to map one of them with his fingertips.

“You're beautiful,” he blurts out, too mesmerized by the sight of Dean's exposed skin to care about being cheesy.

Dean blushes, probably, although Cas can't see his face clearly in the dark. The sky is cloudless and the moon is bright, but it's not enough to illuminate Dean entirely. It's better this way, though. Cas knows Dean would rather they both stayed hidden in the shadows around the bridge.

“Cas, I'm gonna need you to stop talking and start unzipping your pants,” Dean says flatly, although Castiel still catches a slight tremble in his voice.

“So bossy,” Cas says, clicking his tongue. He swats at Dean's hand when he reaches for his own belt buckle and undoes it for him with well-practiced motions. His eyes never leave Dean's face, not even when he pushes Dean's jeans and boxers down his legs to free his cock.

“Now who's bossy,” Dean quips.

His triumphant smirk is quickly replaced by a look of obscene bliss when Cas sinks to his knees and takes him in his mouth.

It's been a while since Cas has done this, but it doesn't take him long to find the right rhythm. He works on Dean's cock steadily, taking him as far in as he can without chocking, and swirls his tongue around the head to tease little moans out of Dean. It's messy and it's hot, and it's so much more than Cas has ever hoped for.

He can feel Dean's hips jerking lightly where he has them pinned to the wooden beam, so he moves his hands to Dean's ass and encourages him to thrust into his mouth. Until now Dean has tried to keep quiet, conscious of the fact someone could drive past them at any moment. Now, though, all caution is forgotten and Dean cries out in pleasure every time the tip of his cock hits the back of Castiel's throat.

Cas can feel his own erection leaking inside his jeans and it's all he can do to keep himself from undoing his pants and taking himself in his hand. Dean seems to sense how desperate for release Cas is and says,

“C'mon, Cas. I wanna see you. Let me see you."

Permission granted, Cas unzips his jeans with one hand and finally, finally, grips his own cock. He looks up at Dean through his eyelashes and sees him staring down, his mouth slack and his cheeks gloriously flushed. It's nearly enough to send Cas over the edge, but he squeezes the base of his cock and takes a steadying breath through his nose.

He pumps his own cock in sync with Dean's hips thrusting into his mouth, enjoying the way Dean's fingers curl in his hair and the way his thighs tremble under Castiel's touch. Around them, cicadas buzz gently in the tall grass, but Cas can't hear them over Dean's desperate moans and the sound of his own blood pulsing in his ears.

As he draws closer to the edge of pleasure his rhythm becomes more erratic, his technique a lot more sloppy. Dean doesn't care. He's groaning out Castiel's name in an endless litany of _yes, Cas_ and _fuck, Cas_ , and the sound of his voice, so wrecked and hoarse, only rekindles the fire in Castiel's veins.

At last he feels Dean tugging at his hair to signal that he's close, as if Cas would ever want to pull away. His grip on Dean's ass tightens as he sucks on his cock, bobbing his head up and down the shaft to meet the movement of Dean's hips. He can feel Dean tremble, can hear his breath hitch, and then Dean cries out and stills, spilling hot liquid into Castiel's mouth.

The sensation of Dean coming down his throat is what finally pushes him over the edge and then he's spilling too, over his fist and on the grass at Dean's feet. He moans in pleasure around Dean's cock, keeping his eyes closed and relishing in the flood of burning-hot rapture spreading through his entire body.

Gradually, the world around them comes to a still and Castiel once again becomes aware of his surroundings. His knees ache from kneeling on the hard ground, his fist is clammy with drying come and the summer breeze feels chilling on his naked skin. But Castiel is too blissed out to care about any of these things, and so is Dean, judging by the way he's leaning against the beam like it's the only thing keep him upright.

Dean reaches out for Castiel's hand to help him to his feet, then pulls him in for a languid kiss. When they pull apart, their foreheads touching, they both smile stupidly at each other.

“You're incredible," Dean whispers.

“Yes, I've been told my technique was particularly impressive."

Dean smacks him playfully on the chest with the back of his hand.

“That's not what I meant and you know it."

Back in the Impala they clean themselves up as best as they can and then melt into their seats to enjoy a quiet moment of easy companionship. Cas is slowly coming down from his high and already a million questions start swarming around his head, making him restless.

Dean answers the biggest one of them when he silently reaches out for Castiel's hand. He takes it in his palm and brings it up to his lips, kissing each and every knuckle with tenderness Castiel always expected to be hiding under his rough exterior.

It's an echo of a similar gesture from a few days ago, when they walked away from the willow tree with no more secrets between them, replaced instead by an invisible barrier Dean had to build to protect himself. Castiel now recognizes the gesture as an apology. This night doesn't change anything. They are still to be apart.

Dean turns the engine on and drives them back to the farm. They don't talk much, but Dean holds Castiel's hand all the way home.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

It's only the second time Dean wakes up next to Cas, and it already feels like his favorite habit. But any pleasure he should have felt upon opening his eyes and seeing Castiel's face just inches away from his is punched out if him by the realization that there will be no more mornings like this one. Castiel will be gone by midday. He will take his red pick-up truck on a journey through the fields of Iowa and all the way to Chicago, and Dean will be left here, on this farm that should feel like home, but hasn't in the last two weeks. Maybe even longer, if Dean is being honest with himself.

Determined to make the most of the time they have left, Dean slips under the covers and between Castiel's legs. He runs his hands up and down Castiel's firm thighs, then noses at his cock until it hardens under his touch. Dean didn't have a chance to get a proper look at it last night, so now he takes his time to admire Cas' growing erection.

Once satisfied, he takes it in his mouth and sucks on it until he feels Cas stirring awake. The cover is lifted off Dean's head and he looks up to see Cas peering down at him with hooded eyes. Dean winks, then continuous licking up and down Cas' shaft and around the head of his cock.

Dean's own erection is trapped between him and the mattress. He rolls his hips in an effort to get some friction, but it's not enough. No matter. This is about making Cas feel good.

Castiel's fingers find their way into Dean's hair, where they tug and pull lightly whenever Cas loses his composure. Dean fucking loves it. He wants to tell Cas to pull his hair a little harder, get a little rougher, he can take it. But he doesn't quite know how to say it without making himself too vulnerable, so he opts instead for making Cas lose control by going to town on his dick.

It doesn't take him long to reduce Cas to a quivering mess. When it all becomes too much Cas warns him, because he's a gentleman, but Dean refuses to pull away. He swallows everything Cas gives him and then climbs up Cas' body with a satisfied smirk.

Castiel recovers quickly and flips them over so that Dean lands flat on his back in the middle of the mattress. It's Cas' turn to take him apart with his fingers, ever so slowly, until Dean begs him to make him come.

Cas obliges.

Afterwards, they lie in bed together, watching as the rays of sun shift slowly over the wall. It's nice to pretend that this is just one of many lazy mornings they will share together, even if the illusion is paper-thin.

Dean's head is resting on Castiel's chest, just over his heart. He hasn't done this whole post-coital cuddling thing with anyone in a really long time and it hits him just now how much he's missed it. He nuzzles closer to Cas and smiles into the crook of his neck when Castiel's arm wraps tighter around him.

“You could come with me, you know,” Cas says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dean stills.

He has both hoped and feared to hear these words. Now that he has, his head is spinning with possible replies and none of them seems right.

“Cas-” he starts, but Castiel speaks over him in an effort get his intentions across without scaring Dean off.

“I'm not asking you to move for me, not unless you want to. But you could visit. It's really not that far."

Castiel's voice is so soft and hopeful, Dean allows himself a moment to daydream about a possible future with him. They could do this long distance. Dean has considered it himself before. Working at the garage Monday to Friday, taking care of Sammy, looking out for his dad. Then getting in his car every Friday night just to knock on Castiel's door and kiss him hello.

It's a pretty picture, but Dean has been burnt too many times before not to see the ugly reality behind it. A relationship like that could only last so long. Sooner rather than later his dad would guess where Dean was sneaking off to every weekend, and then all hell would break loose.

And even if that didn't happen, how long before Dean and Cas would drift apart on their own? Cas travels for work so often. He's always off to another exciting destination, seeing the world through the lens of his camera and making it immortal. What does Dean do? Get grease behind his fingernails and haul his drunk father out of bars before he can start a fight with some other bum.

It's a matter of time before Cas realizes he's punching well below his weight and Dean ends up alone.

Might as well cut out the middle part and make it quick.

“I can't do that, Cas,” he says, even though every word nearly catches in his throat. “If we keep going I'm gonna fall for you and then get my heart kicked to the curb. I don't think I can take it."

He sits up so that Cas can see his face and the truth in his eyes. Dean's never really learned to communicate with his words how he feels and what he wants, but he hopes that he has managed to let Cas know just how terrified he is of taking that big step with him, only to inevitably lose him.

Castiel doesn't look hurt or surprised. It's like he knew what Dean was going to say, but asked anyway, unable to resist the last spark of hope he had. He presses his hand to the side of Dean's face and runs his thumb over Dean's lips, never once looking away from Dean's eyes.

“I understand,” Cas says.

“I'm not trying to push you away, Cas,” Dean tells him. “You know I want you. But I just can't see this ending well for us."

“I know. I just wish...” Cas sighs, then closes his eyes. “I wish circumstances were different."

Dean lies back down next to him and presses a soft kiss to his shoulder.

“Me too, buddy. Me too."

* * * *

Helping Cas pack his bags feels surreal. Dean considers sabotaging his departure by hiding his cameras or maybe even slashing his tires. It's dumb and Dean knows it, but a part of him still wants to cling to Cas for a little longer.

 John's car is in the driveway, which means that he's back from his shift at the station. Dean and Cas decide to say goodbye behind the closed door of the Barn where he can't see them, like it's their own little haven. It feels right.

Dean wraps Castiel in a hug and doesn't let go, just breathing in Castiel's smell and memorizing the feeling of Castiel's hands stroking his back and holding him tight. It's such a soft moment, something Dean isn't really used to, but always wanted to have. He briefly wonders if he will ever get to experience this with someone else and realizes with a painful beat of his heart that he wouldn't want to have it with anyone else but Cas.

When they finally pull apart Dean leans in to kiss Cas one last time, and then it's time to load up his truck and wave him goodbye.

Sam meets them outside and helps with the luggage, all the while talking nonsense in a cheery tone, clearly trying (and failing) to break the tension. Dean has a feeling his brother will try to have a Talk with capital T with him once Cas is gone, because the little shit likes to play Dean's personal therapist even when he clearly doesn't need one. Thankfully, after years of being occasionally ambushed by Sam and his I Care About You, Talk To Me frown Dean has learned how to avoid conversations that require him spilling his guts to his little brother. The only one Dean is planning on talking to tonight is the bottom of a whiskey glass.

With the pick-up loaded and the sun high in the sky, it's time for Cas to go home. The look he gives Dean just before getting in his car is so intense Dean nearly succumbs and jumps in the car with him, but Sam's presence at his side keeps him grounded. He just nods at Cas and hopes he'll understand.

The truck pulls out of the driveway and onto the dusty road. Dean stands there in the garden and watches as the man he has grown to care about so much drives off, back into the same summer haze he came from. 

* * * * 

That night Dean goes out to the Roadhouse. He spends the evening drinking cheap whiskey and listening to his friends talk, occasionally laughing at their jokes and hoping they won't notice how empty it sounds. Charlie tries to catch his eye over the table, but he ignores her. He can't get himself to talk to her about Cas, not yet. So he just drinks.

Eventually Benny decides to call it a night and Jo leaves the table to help her mom close the bar, leaving Dean alone with Charlie. By then he has had enough liquid courage to break his silence and tell her everything that's happened since he last saw her, in the same joint and at the same table.

Well, almost everything. He figures she doesn't need to know the dirty details, like the curve of Castiel's cock or the taste of Dean's own come on his lips.

So he ends up telling her all the sweet, mushy things he would normally never share with anyone. As expected, Charlie listens to him with rapt attention and so much worry in her eyes Dean has to fix his gaze on the contents of his glass to keep himself from falling apart.

When he's done, she doesn't say anything, just wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder. Dean appreciates her silence. No words of consolation could make him feel better anyway. So he just drinks.

When he finally gets home that night (dropped off by Ellen, bless her heart), he checks his phone and finds a text from Cas. It's a simple message telling him that Cas made is safely to Chicago, but it makes Dean's heart race all the same. He types and retypes a reply a few times, and when words fail him, he just sends Cas the picture he took of the two of them at Roseman Bridge. He trusts Cas to get the sentiment behind it. 

* * * * 

The next couple of weeks go by in a blur. Dean throws himself into work, because keeping his hands busy is the only thing keeping him sane. He picks up extra shifts at the garage and finishes all of his DYI projects around the farm, starting with properly fixing the roof of the Barn (a terrible choice of a distraction from Cas, but he soldiers on).

In between all of that he tries to spend more time with Sam, feeling guilty for having neglected him during Castiel's stay. Sam rolls his eyes and tells him that he's kinda enjoyed having him off his back, but Dean can tell Sammy's happy to hang out with him again. So much so that he's stopped trying to have meaningful conversations with him about Cas, and now they're back to playing video games and fishing (but not in the same spot as him and Cas – Dean can't bring himself to go back there just yet).

All in all, Dean is doing well. Or so he tells himself every morning when he rolls over in his bed and stares at the empty pillow next to him. Or every time he checks his phone, hoping to see a text from Cas, even though he was the one who said he didn't want to keep in touch.

At the time it seemed like the right thing to do, but now Dean wishes he could at least hear from Cas once in a while to see if he's doing okay. He doesn't text him first, though. Sometimes, his thumb hovers over the text bubble, a half-formed message in his mind, but he always ends up pocketing his phone and going back to whatever task is at hand.

* * * * *

Two weeks after Cas' departure, Dean gets a new lodger. It's some businessman from out of town who had booked the stay just before Cas showed up in Dean's life. Dean forgot all about it until the guy messaged him the night before his arrival. Dean wishes he had cancelled. It feels weird to have him stay in the Barn, weirder still to know that some stranger is sleeping in the very bed where Cas fingered Dean and made him beg for more.

He's relieved when the man leaves, and doesn't bother checking if he's got any more booking requests lined up. The Barn will stay empty for now.

* * * * *

A week after that he finally breaks and drives over to Roseman Bridge. He doesn't plan on spending much time there, but somehow ends up staying until the sun goes down. He takes a picture of the bridge just as daylight fades and sends it to Cas, because he's a sap with a broken heart. So sue him.

Cas replies a second later with the view from his apartment window. It's not as picturesque as the fields and the bridge, but the same setting sun shines in between the tall buildings around Cas. Seeing it makes Dean feel a little less lonely, only if for a little while. He saves the picture on his phone and drives back home.

* * * * *

September rolls around and Dean is forced to return to the land of the living by his pals from the town committee. He's glad for the distraction and dives head first into last-minute preparations for the end of summer party. Sam teases him about it, but Dean doesn't let it get under his skin.

He remembers Cas telling him that he has a natural talent for hosting and making people feel welcomed, so he channels that energy into party-planning to make Cas proud. Which is all kinds of stupid, of course. It's not like Cas is gonna show to the party. But it makes Dean feel connected to him, in a weird way, so he just goes with it.

The night before the party, Sam knocks on Dean's bedroom door, even though it's wide open, and hovers awkwardly in the doorway. Dean senses trouble. Unfortunately, with the only exit blocked by his freakishly tall brother, he has no choice but to bite the bullet.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there like a discount scare crow?”

Sam scowls and walks in, closing the door behind him. He collapses on the desk chair and wheels it over to the bed where Dean is sitting with a book in his lap. Dean quickly shoves it under the covers so that Sam doesn't see that it's a volume of early 20th century poetry. That's a secret between Dean and Missoury Moseley, his favorite librarian.

“What's on your mind, Sammy? Did you get dumped by Eileen or something?

“No, we're doing fine."

“Ha! So you _are_ dating. I freaking knew it."

“Good job, Dean, you figured it out,” Sam rolls his eyes. “I don't know why you're acting like it's such a big deal."

“No reason. I just think it's cute that my baby brother has a girlfwend,” he says with a shit eating grin. Unsurprisingly, Sam's only reply is bitchface. The kid's never been particularly witty.

“See, this kind of emotional immaturity is exactly the reason why we need to have this talk,” Sam tell him matter-of-factly. Before Dean's brain can catch up, he continues, “For the last few weeks I had to sit here and watch you mop around like an abandoned puppy and quite frankly, I'm getting tired of it. You need to do something about it."

“What are you talking about?” Dean says, a dangerous note in his voice. He's not sure where Sam is going with this, but he knows he won't like it.

Sam is, of course, unfazed.

“Call Cas. Tell him you miss him. Profess your love, or whatever. Anything to make you stop being so miserable."

“Sam, with all due respect, shut the fuck up."

Dean gets up, ready to storm out of his own damn bedroom, but Sam wheels the chair to cut off his escape route. That sneaky little shit.

“Dean, I'm serious. Have you been in touch with him at all?”

“Sam-”

“And have you considered how _he_ feels about this? I bet he's pretty miserable, too. You could still turn this all around if you just pulled your head out of your ass for long enough to call Cas and tell him how you feel. It's that simple, Dean."

“Nothing about this is simple, Sam,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. And because he's tired in more ways than one, he gives up on resisting Sam and sits heavily at the end of his bed in defeat. “Cas knows how I feel, so what? Doesn't change anything. We're not high school sweethearts, we can't just walk around with our rose-colored glasses on, pretending that everything is perfectly fine. We've got our own shit to take care of, and sometimes that means letting go of each other and going back to our responsibilities. That's how life works, kiddo."

“So that's what this is about. Your responsibilities? You're seriously giving up on Cas for the sake of sticking around here and doing what, fixing cars? You could do that in Chicago, too! Sure, Bobby would probably chew your head off for bailing on him, but he wouldn't really mean it."

“It's not that, Sammy."

“Then what? What other responsibilities do you have here?”

Dean can't say it out loud, but his eyes betray him when they dart to meet Sam's. Comprehension dawns on his brother's face and Sam stares at him in disbelief.

“You're kidding me,” he breathes out, his voice suspended between incredulity and anger. “You ditched Cas _for me_?”

Dean shrugs like it's no big deal.

“'Course I did. I couldn't just leave you here to deal with dad's shit on your own."

“I didn't ask you to that."

“You didn't have to."

“No, Dean, you don't get it,” Sam shakes his head, his cheeks flushed. “I never wanted you to that for me! To sacrifice your own happiness just so you can fuss over me like I'm still a five year old with a scraped knee!”

Dean wants to protest, but Sam is on a roll.

“Dean, this time next year I'll be at college, and you'll still be here, in this miserable little town with an alcoholic, deadbeat father and no one to hold you at night. Is that what you want for yourself? 'Cause it sure as hell isn't what I want for you."

Sam is standing over him now, his chest heaving and his eyes bright with righteous rage. For the first time Dean doesn't see a little boy when he looks at him. He sees a man. Lanky and unevenly shaved, but a man nonetheless.

He knows that Sam is right, but he also knows that it's not enough to make things better.

Dean's whole family life feels like quicksand sucking him under. Sam might have just tried to push him out, but John is still pulling him down and Dean isn't strong enough to put up a fight.

“I need to have an early night,” is all Dean has left to say to his brother.

Sam stares him down, but Dean must look so pathetic that he eventually deflates.

“Think about this, Dean. It's not too late,” he says on his way out.

Dean doesn't reply and doesn't move from his seat, even long after the sound of Sam's footsteps fades down the hallway.

* * * *

The last morning of summer is bright and warm, but there's already a faint smell of fall in the air. Dean arrives at the local park bright and early to help Jody and the rest of the town committee set up the last few food and game stands for the party. Being around people he loves and keeping busy helps Dean take his mind off the conversation he had with Sam, and it's not long before his mood lifts and he joins in on the fun.

Around midday Dean and Charlie wade their way around families with kids, teenage couples and way too many dogs running loose, to claim the only empty picnic bench by the stage. Ash's band, Dr. Badass, is playing a cover of an RKO song and Dean kinda digs it.

“This is neat,” Charlie says around a mouthful of hotdog. “You guys have outdone yourselves this year."

“On behalf of the town committee I thank you for your support and positivity,” Dean says solemnly. “We hope you will stick around after the party to help us clean this shit up."

Charlie snorts with her mouth still full, which is truly disgusting and puts Dean off finishing his own hotdog. It's was his third this afternoon anyway.

Over Charlie's head of flaming red hair he spots Jody strolling around and patrolling the crowd. He waves at her and watches as she elbows her way to their bench.

“Hiya, kids. Having fun?”

“Loads,” Dean says with a smile. “This is amazing, Jody. You're incredible."

“Aw, come on now. Couldn't have done this without you."

She pats him on the cheek and smiles brightly. Dean can tell by the shadows under her eyes that she's exhausted, and wonders where she gets the energy to always be so cheerful. It's just one of many, many things he loves and admires about Jody.

She's just about to leave their table and go back to being all sheriff-y when she stops in her tracks and turns back to face Dean.

“By the way," she says, “I'm glad that Castiel could make it today. Give him a hug from me when you see him, will ya?”

And then she walks away, as if her words haven't just shaken Dean to his very core.

“Cas is here?” Charlie croaks out. Her eyes are as wide as the paper plate she's holding.

“No, he can't be,” Dean shakes his head. “Why would he be here?”

“Well, I mean, that part is pretty obvious, isn't it?”

“I need to find him,” Dean gets up, nearly knocking over Charlie's soda. “Fuck, I need to find him."

“Let's split up,” Charlie suggests, but Dean's already marching through the crowd with determination.

His eyes are scanning the sea of faces for a familiar set of cornflower-blue eyes, but Cas is no where to be seen. He's not by the food court, or the game stands, or even the flea market. Dean's just about to give up when he hears the unmistakable voice coming from behind him.

“Hello, Dean."

Dean breathes in deeply as a wave or relief and anticipation washes over him. He turns around and finally locks eyes with Cas.

“No way,” he says. “No fucking way."

Cas cocks his head at him, clearly confused by his reaction.

“You're not happy to see me,” he says carefully, as if trying to piece together the range of emotions playing on Dean's face.

“Cas, don't be stupid,” Dean says with a shake of his head. He steps up to Castiel and brings him in for a tight hug, holding on to him like his life depends on it. “I just can't believe you're here."

Cas relaxes in his arms and returns the hug. They stay like that for a little too long and Dean becomes conscious of the people around them, many of whom know Dean and know his father. He steps back, though his hand still lingers on Castiel's arm. Cas is looking up with the softest smile and Dean can't stop himself from beaming at him.

“What are you doing here?” he says, still not entirely convinced that this is happening. Good things don't tend to happen to Dean.

“I had to see you,” Cas says simply. “I've missed you. It's been too long."

“You're telling me. How long are you here for?”

“Just tonight,” Cas tells him sadly. “I need to go back to Chicago tomorrow morning."

Dean nods, hiding his disappointment well.

“I can work with that. What do you want to do? We don't have to hang around here."

“No, I want to. You've worked so hard to make this happen. Let me enjoy it,” Cas says, and he's looking at Dean with so much sweetness in his eyes Dean can't say no to him.

They stay at the end of summer party for the rest of the afternoon. Dean makes sure to let Cas catch up with Sam and the rest of the gang, but once all pleasantries are out of the way he drags Cas away and keeps him all to himself.

It's a little awkward at first. Dean can't decide if it feels more like bumping into an ex, or a best friend he hasn't seen in a while. He tries to focus on Cas as he tells him about his work and his brother's shenanigans, but all the while Dean is too distracted by the conflicting feelings festering in his chest.

He's torn between kissing Cas and asking him to leave so that he can move on. Both of these options make him film nauseous.

Cas seems to sense his discomfort. He stops mid-sentence and lets out a weary sigh.

“This was a mistake, wasn't it. I shouldn't have come here."

“No, Cas, that's not it,” Dean assures him, suddenly terrified that he'll drive Cas away. “I'm so fucking happy that you're here. I just... I wish you didn't have to leave so soon. Or, you know. At all."

Cas smiles at him in relief, then reaches out to hold his hand under the picnic table.

“And I wish you could come with me,” he says. “I guess all we can do is make sure we don't waste any second of this evening."

“Oh, I don't intend to, Cas."

And that's how they end up back in Castiel's motel room just on the edge of town.

As soon as the door shuts closed behind them Dean pins Cas to the nearest wall and crushes their mouths together. Cas responds just as eagerly, sliding his tongue into Dean's mouth and winding his hands in Dean's hair.

Dean's hands roam wildly all over Castiel's body, from the side of his face, to his chest, to the curve of his ass. His fingertips map out what little of Castiel's skin is exposed to him, and when it's not enough Dean huffs impatiently and tries to push Cas' tan trenchcoat off his shoulders.

Cas gets the drill and ditches the coat, then loosens his tie and discards it to the floor. He'd lose the shirt next if Dean didn't interrupt him by pressing his lips to the hollow of Castiel's throat.

Cas lifts Dean's chin up and their eyes meet briefly before he claims Dean's mouth in an ardent kiss. It's hot and desperate, and they still want more.

Just like that first time at Roseman Bridge, Cas walks Dean backwards until the back of Dean's knees hit the bed and they both collapse on the lumpy mattress. Dean laughs breathlessly into the next kiss, feeling the tension of the last few weeks finally leave his body. Being here in this shabby motel room with Cas looking down at him with love in his eyes feels so right that Dean can't believe he has ever tried to deny this to himself.

This time there is no urgency to the movement of their bodies. It's slow and languid, but perfect all the same.

Cas takes his time undressing Dean and peppering his skin with butterfly kisses that make Dean blush all over. Dean then allows himself the luxury of admiring Castiel's naked body and committing every inch of it to memory. At times it feels too sweet, too dangerously romantic, and Dean tries to break the tension with a quip or a dirty remark, but Cas knows him too well to let him shy away from the tenderness of the moment.

They come within seconds of one another, with Castiel pinning Dean to the mattress and pumping their cocks with his lubed-up hand.

As he comes down from his high, Dean looks up into Castiel's flushed face and thinks, _Fuck, I love this guy._

But he doesn't say it out loud. Instead, he kisses Castiel's nose and makes a joke that sends Cas laughing into the crook of Dean's neck.

* * * * *

Later that evening Dean insists on driving them to a field not too far from the park, where they can sit on the hood of the Impala and watch the firework display celebrating the end of summer. It's a pretty view, made all the more beautiful by Cas' fingers interlocked with Dean's.

Summer offers them one last clear night. Hours later, when they're back in Castiel's motel room, their bodies intertwined under the covers, it starts to rain.

When the morning comes and they say goodbye, it's with a soft press of their lips rather than a passionate kiss. It feels final, this time, though neither one of them admits it.

When Dean drives away, Cas is just a blurry figure in the rear-view mirror.

* * * * 

By the time Dean pulls up at the farm he feels hollow and exhausted. He still hasn't processed what last night meant for him and Cas, but as soon as he comes in through the kitchen door he knows that he won't get any peace just yet.

His father is sitting at the table with that expression he always wears just before tearing Dean a new one. Only this time it's even darker and more unforgiving, and Dean's heart races in his chest with blind panic.

“Hi, dad,” he says, trying to sound casual. He hopes to rush past John and into the safety of his room where he can dry off, but John stands up, his towering figure keeping Dean firmly in place.

“Son,” he says in a way of greeting. “Guess whose car I saw in town yesterday."

_Fuck, he knows._

“I dunno."

“That little photographer of yours came back, huh?”

“Oh, you mean Cas? Yeah, he stopped by at the party. Didn't stay for long, though."

Dean pretends that's all he has to say on the matter and tries to walk past his father, but John grabs his arm and spins him back around.

“What was he doing there, Dean?”

John's voice sounds like calm before the storm. Dean's brain shifts to top gear as he tries to spin a lie that would convince John of Castiel's presence in town being perfectly innocent and unrelated to Dean.

“Jody invited him,” he says, and realizes with relief that technically it's not a lie. Jody did invite Cas and will undoubtedly tell John as much if he asks. Dean might just get off the hook. “Let go of me, dad."

John ignores him. His fingers dig into Dean's arm as he leans closer to say in a low voice,

“Why the hell would Jody do that? That boy ain't even from around here."

“I don't know, dad. He's a friendly guy, I guess. Jody must like him a lot."

“Maybe he's a little too friendly,” John sneers.

It's enough to set Dean off.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He raises his voice and yanks his arm away from John's iron grip.

“I think you know exactly what I mean."

“I really don't, sir."

“Cut the crap, Dean. You've been screwing him this whole time, haven't you?”

His father's words feel like a blow. Blood drains from Dean's face and he stares at John with wide, terrified eyes.

“What did you just say?” he manages, though his voice sounds small to his own ears.

“You heard me, Dean. I know you've been screwing that faggot this whole damn time. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what a pansy you are? All I ask is that you show me enough respect not to whore around under my own damn roof."

Dean feels sick. He takes a deep breath, then another, all the while keeping his eyes on his father's face, contorted with fury and disgust.

“Don't say that to me,” he says, his tone surprisingly even. Now that the jinx is up he no longer feels thwarted by fear. Now, he’s just pissed. “Don’t you dare say that to me, _sir."_

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want. This is my house, my rules. Don’t like it? Then fuck off."

“ _Your_ house?” Dean laughs, incredulous. “That’s fucking rich. When was the last time you cared about this house, or Sammy for that matter? Most of the time you don’t even bother to do your own damn laundry. I’ve been taking care of this house, and Sam, and even your sorry ass for _years_ , and you wanna kick me out cause I like dudes? Are you fucking serious?”

John’s chest is heaving with barely contained fury. He looks ready to throw punches, but Dean refuses to stoop so low. Words will have to do.

“Some father you are,” he spits out. “You’re lucky Sam’s still here, and as long he stays in this house, so will I. But know this,” he steps right into John’s personal space, daring him to raise his hand like he clearly wants to, “The second Sam is out the door and on his way to college, I’ll be gone too. I promise you that. And then who will take care of your drunken ass? Who will feed you and pay your bills? Who will stitch you up next time you get in a fight? Cause it sure as hell won’t be me."

John opens his mouth, no doubt to haul insults in his son’s face, but Dean’s not having it.

“Save it,” he says, finally stepping past John and towards the back door. “I’m done listening to what you have to say."

And with that, Dean steps outside.

Out on the porch, he breathes in the fall air and lets the sound of rain calm him down. It helps, but only a little. He still feels sick, and the mere thought of seeing his father makes him want to puke, or cry, or both. So he does the only thing that has always made him feel better – he gets in his car and turns the engine on.

At the sound of the Impala’s engine rumbling to life, Sam burst through the kitchen door and sprints across the law. Before Dean can stop him, he slides on the passenger’s seat and says,

“Let’s go."

Dean stares at him.

“Where the fuck did you come from?”

“My room, duh. I heard what dad said to you. And what you said to him. Props for making him speechless, by the way. It’s about time you finally shut him up."

“Sam-“

“Let’s just go, okay? I don’t care where. I just don’t want to be in the same house as him."

Dean gets that. With a shrug of his shoulders, he pulls out onto the road and drives away in the first direction that comes to his mind.

* * * * * 

He’s not surprised to see that Cas’ pick-up truck is no longer in the motel’s parking lot. They said their goodbyes a while ago, and there was no reason for Cas to hang around. Dean considers calling him, but thinks better of it. It’s not like anything would come of it, anyway. If anything, seeing Cas now when Dean’s feeling so raw and vulnerable would probably only make him ache even more, so he just drives past the motel and into town.

Maybe he and Sam can get something to eat, spend some quality time together. Just the two brothers against the world. That would be nice.

As they get closer to the town center the rain picks up, falling to the ground in heavy curtains. The car’s wipers barely keep up with clearing Dean’s vision, so he slows down and grips the wheel a little tighter. Can’t let anything bad happen to his Baby.

Sam is uncharacteristically quiet in the passenger seat, which usually means that he’s mulling something over in that big brain of his. Dean’s actually grateful for the silence and doesn’t prod him. Sam will spill it once he’s ready.

The traffic is slow, but it’s not unusual for a late Sunday morning, especially in crappy weather. Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they crawl down the main road, and tries to keep his mind blank. He can’t bear thinking about his dad, or Cas, or the general clusterfuck of a situation he's in right now. Instead, he lets his thoughts drift to the mundane – mainly what burger he’s going to order at Benny’s and what school supplies he still needs to get for Sammy.

But all coherent thought comes to a stop when a red pick-up truck emerges from around the corner. There's no mistaking the car. Dean would recognize it anywhere.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out.

“Is that...?”

“Cas,” Dean says. “It's Cas”.

The little car in front of them turns right, giving Castiel a chance to join the traffic on the main road. Dean watches in stunned silence as Cas' truck moves right in front of Dean's Impala, as if they were just two anonymous drives going in the same direction. To a passer-by, unfortunate enough to be caught in the downpour, this would look like the most ordinary thing. To Dean, it's life changing.

Castiel sees him, of course, and flashes his lights in a secret greeting. With trembling hands, Dean does the same. It feels so fucking weird to be so near Cas and not be able to see him, or talk to him, or pull him in for a kiss, that Dean's mind doesn't even register Sam saying something to him in an urgent tone.

“Huh?” Dean says, his eyes fixed on the car in front of him.

“Dean, listen to me."

Sam turns his body sideways to fully face Dean. His eyes bore a hole on the side of Dean's face and his voice is at least an octave higher than usual. He talks quickly, an avalanche of words Dean can barely get the meaning of.

“I got a scholarship to Stanford. A full ride. The letter came yesterday, but I haven't had the chance to tell you since, you know. You were with Cas. You know what this means, right? I'm definitely going to college next year. One year. That's all. I just need to get through one year on my own with dad, and then you and I will both be free to do whatever we want."

Dean peels his eyes away from Castiel's truck and stares at his little brother.

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying: go for it. Go with Cas. I'll be fine. Jody and Bobby won't let anything happen to me."

“You don't mean that,” Dean shakes his head. The thought of actually leaving Sam behind and driving away with Cas is so ridiculous he bursts out laughing. Sam's lips don't even twitch.

“I'm serious, Dean. Don't you want that? Don't you want to be with Cas? Look me in the eye and tell me you'll be happy without him."

“Sam-”

“Go on, tell me. Say how great it will be to watch Cas drive away, knowing that you'll never see him again”.

Dean doesn't say a word. He just looks at the read pick-up truck, so blurry in the heavy rain, and imagines his life without Cas. Without his kind blue eyes and his quiet laugh, the way he scrunches his nose up when he concentrates, and how he finds beauty in every little thing, even a shabby bridge with its paint peeling off.

Cas stops at a red light. Dean stops too, and makes up his mind.

He turns to his brother with wild eyes, not quite believing what he's about to do.

“Look after yourself, Sammy. Don't let dad get under your skin. And for the love of God, take care of my Baby."

Sam grins at him triumphantly.

“Go get him, Dean."

The light changes back to green, but Cas' truck doesn't move. Dean knows Cas is waiting for him, hoping against all odds that Dean will do the unthinkable and get in the car with him.

Dean isn't about to let him down.

He hears the cacophony of car horns coming from behind his car, but he pays them no mind. With a quick kiss to Sam's forehead, he opens the door and gets out into the downpour. He can hardly see through the curtain of rain and the adrenaline pulsing in his veins, but his feet carry him to Cas all the same.

Damn near delirious, Dean opens the passenger door of the red pick-up truck and slides on the seat next to Cas, dripping all over the upholstery.

Cas stares at him, caught between surprise and elation. Other cars keep beeping at them, some drive around them, splashing the pick-up with muddy water. Dean and Cas don't even notice.

“Are you sure about this?” Cas asks, so softly Dean can barely hear him over the drumming of rain falling on the windshield.

“Yeah, Cas. Of course I am. Can't believe it took me so long, but here I am."

He spreads his arms a little sheepishly, suddenly worried that Cas might not actually want him here. His self-consciousness gets the better of him and he adds,

“There's nowhere I'd rather be than here, or in Chicago, or wherever else you'll take me. If you don't want this, if this is too much, say one word and I'll get back out into the rain and never bother you again. Otherwise,” he takes a deep breath and dives, “Just drive."

The town, the fields and the winding roads are all just a grey blur in the rear-view window. Castiel's hand is warm on Dean's thigh and the radio plays a soft little tune Dean's never heard before. He relaxes in the passenger’s seat and lets the road guide them home.

 

The End


End file.
